


Stilespunzel, the Tale

by Yassoda



Series: Stilespunzel, the Tale [1]
Category: Disney Cartoons (Classic), Tangled (2010), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (On other brighter notes:), (that I hated writing), (ugh), ;), Aftermath of a child being tortured (it's a short scene), Assassins, Bar Fight, Blood, Death, Emotional Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Fire, FlynnRider!Derek, Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mention of Physical Abuse, Metamorphosis, Mother Gothel!Nogitsune, Murder, Near Death Experiences, Nudity, Panic Attack, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rapunzel!Stiles, Self-Medication, Sexual Tension, Tags will be added as the chapters upload, Tangled AU, Threats, Undiagnosed ADHD, Violence, knife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yassoda/pseuds/Yassoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been locked up in a tower since forever. He really wants to go out and explore the world, but his father won't let him. Enter asshole-ish scary robber guy, and a stolen crown. This is definitely Stiles' chance!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of Hair and Chameleons

**Author's Note:**

> Basically Disney's Tangled, but with Teen Wolf characters. Also will certainly not stay PG-13, hehe.

"Stiles! Let down your hair!"

Stiles sat bolt upright. Shit. His hair was a fucking mess, he hadn't combed it in at least a week, and he had no idea where the end strands were. Father Nogitsune would be fucking furious.

"Stiles!"

The man was already growing impatient, oh fuck, Stiles was so fucked.

"Coming, just a sec, I'm pooping!" yelled Stiles, franatically following his hair around the tower and undoing the knots he found. When the fuck had he thrown his hair over one of the upper beams? Why on earth did he think it was a good idea at the time?

After at least ten minutes of dramatic climbing and frantic scrambling, which was long, _too long_ , Stiles was finally able to slam-dunk his hair through the window.  
In the light of the day his hair looked even worse. It was so messy a few dreads had started forming, and the uneven clumps prevented it from falling nicely, like Father liked it. God he was gonna be so mad.

The first cruel tug at his scalp shouldn't have taken Stiles by surprise, but it did. He let out a small yelp and grabbed his hair quickly before the man actually started climbing.

Father arrived at the window/door (that Stiles called "the windoor") and jumped into the room. He looked even worse than last time he came over, almost three weeks prior. He'd wrapped bandages around his hands and face, and Stiles knew it was as much to hide his skin as to prevent it from detaching. The boy shivered. Father was aging faster and faster throughout the years. He'd eventually need access to Stiles at all time... Maybe _then_ he'd let him get out of the tower.

"Hello Father," greeted Stiles, trying to sound chipper and happy to see the man.

"Stiles, what is the meaning of this?!" snapped father Nogitsune, grabbing a handful of Stiles' hair and yanking, making the boy gasp in pain. "I told you to take care of your hair! Did all the hairbrushes break again?"

"No, no sir. I just forgot. I'm sorry."

"Forgot?!"

The man sounded furious. It was even more frightening when his face was hidden like that.

"You lazy brat!" he hissed. "Your hair is the most important thing there is about you, and you let it go to waste? How many times have I told you to brush it every day? Do you think you can just ignore your responsibilities? Come here!"

Father Nogitsune pulled Stiles over to one of the armchairs. Stiles winced, but followed. He hoped he wouldn't get beaten again. God, why did he have to be so stupid! Why did he always procrastinate about stuff like that!  
His father made him kneel roughly on the floor, picked up the hairbrush that was always on the chair, sat, and started untangling his hair with rough broad strokes.

It was a long and painful process. On a good day, Stiles took at least an hour to untangle the odd knots that formed in twenty-four hours.

"Defying me, always defying me, you think after seventeen years of this you'd learn to be obedient, but no, nooo Stiles has to do what Stiles wants, Stiles complains and argues, Stiles doesn't-brush-his-hair!"

Untangling them after a week would take about half the night.

"I'm sorry."

Half the night kneeling at father Nogitsune's feet, getting his head yanked back ever so often, was not Stiles' idea of a good time.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it, boy! I don't know what to do with you. Is this you trying to get my attention? Do you want me to be at the tower more often? Because I could drop by once a week like when you were fourteen, but I thought you liked getting presents from further away, and that you liked having the place to yourself."

"No sir, I'm sorry, it won't happen again. It's just, it takes so long..."

"Well what else do you have to do all day boy? Hm? I noticed you took the time to dust the book shelves, and sweep the floor. Why would you take better care of this room than of your own body? I'm worried for you, son. This isn't normal."

Stiles gritted his teeth.

"If you would let me cut it... Ow!"

The hairbrush thwacked sharply against his skull.

"You know your powers will disappear if you cut your hair! And then I would die! Do you want me to die, Stiles? After everything I've done for you? After I've raised you, and fed you, and protected you from the world and everyone who wishes you ill? Do you want to become a murderer, Stiles, is that what this is?"

"... No. No father. I don't want you to die."

"Well, then." Father Nogitsune gently patted at Stiles' head. "Sing for me. My bones are barely held together as it is. You know how getting angry tires me."

A twinge of guilt pinched at Stiles' heart. Father did tend to age faster when he was in a bad mood. That was one of the reasons he wanted Stiles to always obey. The boy took in a deep breath, and started singing the spell.

"Flower, gleam and glow..."

His hair lit up like the sun, the still-tangled places a bit less bright, but the freshly combed parts going from brown to an almost golden hue, still somewhat copper, but emanating light.

"Let your powers shine..."

Father Nogitsune kept brushing, and Stiles could feel the shape of his hands change, fill up, and knew the man would soon be able to get rid of his wrappings.

"Make the clock reverse,  
Bring back what once was mine..."

The man shifted and sighed behind him. Stiles could hear bones creaking as they got back into place, as the previously hunched form grew straight once more.

"Heal what has been hurt,  
Change the fate's design..."

Father Nogitsune let out a small chuckle, as he usually did when he was feeling good and young again. Stiles ended the song.

"Save what has been lost,  
Bring back what once was mine,  
What once was mine."

His father had stopped brushing at the last line, and was just caressing Stiles' hair, letting the strands slip between his fingers.

"I don't understand you, boy. You can be so lazy, ditzy, unfocused. Maybe I should stay here more frequently."

"No! Uh, it isn't necessary, I promise, I slacked about the hair this time but I swear it won't happen again, please trust me, I'll brush it every day, hell, twice a day! To make up for this!"

Feeling the man's incredulous stare, Stiles quickly added:

"Uh, it's just, I don't want you to be stuck here, I know you do important things out there."

The brushing started again, a bit slower.

"Well, yes, of course I do extremely important things. I suppose we can keep this visit pattern. But this is your last chance. If you are too immature to take care of your gift, then I'll have to treat you like when you were eight. Remember that time you tried to hack it all off with a butter knife? We don't want a repeat of that, now, do we?"

Stiles gulped. He really, _really_ didn't want a repeat of that. Father Nogitsune had decided to demonstrate just how dangerous knives could be, and, well. Stiles didn't like to think about that.

"No sir."

"Hmm, yes, I thought not. Go get another hairbrush. You can work on the other half."

"Okay."

Stiles scrambled to his bedroom and got one of the other numerous hairbrushes that they kept in the tower. When he came back, father Nogitsune had laid a cushion on the floor for him to sit on, and had started undoing his wrappings. Grateful, Stiles smiled at his father, and was able to see the answering smirk before he knelt once more.  
He started brushing.

Working together, and speaking little, they brushed until their arms hurt and the hair was smooth once more. Both were properly exhausted, Stiles' eyes were drooping, and father Nogitsune yawned widely. They went to their respective beds and fell asleep.

The next morning, father Nogitsune was in a way better mood. He talked about his travels, his incredibly dangerous travels, and gave Stiles a new book about stars. Stiles loved stars. He'd gotten a telescope for his sixteenth birthday, and he'd started mapping them and comparing his maps to the ones in old books. The tower was recluse, and the view on the sky was amazing.

Stiles actually enjoyed father Nogitsune's presence most of the time. As long as he didn't start nagging and berating him. He always felt useless and diminished after that. Also, when father was there, Stiles couldn't talk to Scott, and that sucked.

\-----

**The story of Scott the chameleon**

Stiles was twelve, and staring at the world outside one day, when suddenly, his hand bumped against a rock. A rock that had never been on the windowsill before. The rock squeaked, and scurried away inside the tower, which was definitely not standard rock behavior.

"What the..."

Stiles followed the rock and saw it become the exact same shade as the wooden floor boards, and exclaimed:

"Dude, a chameleon! That's awesome! Hey, hey, don't be scared, let me see you."

A chameleon was infinitely more interesting than a bunch of trees.

Stiles found the chameleon trembling in a corner. Come to think of it, that chameleon wasn't acting very chameleon-y. Stiles scooped it in his hands and looked at it change colors to match his skin.

"Hey there little dude. I'm not gonna dissect you, don't worry."

He could've sworn the chameleon glared at him, but that wasn't likely.

"What do chameleons eat, hm? Insects? I've got a few around the house. I'm sure you'll catch them with panache."

The chameleon shook its head vigorously, as if it were trying to say "no". Stiles chuckled.

"No? And what would your majesty like to eat then?"

The chameleon pointed at the fruit bowl, and Stiles nearly dropped it in shock.

"What the hell? You understand me? You understand and process human language? How...? Are you like, a cursed prince or something?"

The chameleon shrugged and nodded. It nodded!

"Oh god am I supposed to kiss you to break the curse or something?"

The face of disgust the chameleon made shouldn't have been possible.

"Wow, okay dude, no need to look so grossed out, that's insulting. Good luck finding a zoophile who likes amphibians!"

The chameleon rolled its – his – eyes and jumped from Stiles' hands onto the table. He threw out his tongue, stuck it to a grape, and swallowed the whole thing.  
Stiles sat, fascinated by the small creature. Man. Man turned creature.

"What's your name anyway? Ooh, do I get to name you? What about Roscoe! Jelly-Bean! Mister Huffington!"

The chameleon shook his head so hard his tongue menaced to fly out. Stiles chuckled. That was pretty cute.

"Okay, okay, uhm. Wait a sec."

He ran to his room and came back with a parchment and a small bottle of ink.

"You could write when you were human, right? Come on, show me those chameleon moves."

The small creature tentatively walked up to the ink and put the tip of his tail in it. He then went to the parchment and clumsily, slowly, wrote four wobbly letters. 

**_SCOT_**

"Scot? As in, Scott, two Ts, right?"

Scott nodded, and smiled, maybe. A chameleon's lips should not twist like that.

"Awesome, Scott. Do you want to live here? It gets kind of lonely."

Scott let out a small inquisitive sound, and Stiles told him his life story. 

\-----

Scott hated father Nogitsune. He hated him with a passion, but couldn't do much about it stuck in a chameleon's body. The way the man manipulated and abused Stiles was impossible to stand, and his punishments were cruel and unusual. Scott had seen the scars, had seen the haunted look in his friend's eyes. Scott hated the man. He was probably a demon or something, that would explain why he was a walking corpse when he came home to use Stiles' hair.

Scott sometimes wished he'd been cursed to be a beast, or something with claws. Then he'd be able to rip father Nogitsune's throat open, and Stiles would finally dare leave the tower, and discover that the world wasn't as scary and dangerous as his father made it seem. But Stiles might hate him if he did that. He loved his father, after all, as twisted as that was. And Scott hurt for his friend. He wished there was a way to make him see he was being used.

\-----

Father Nogitsune was gone for another month, and Stiles was really careful to brush his hair every single day. He even asked Scott to remind him, and bite his hand if he got lost studying his new book, or sketching star constellations. Or sketching the lights.

The lights came every year, on Stiles' birthday. He'd looked at every natural phenomena there was, and couldn't for the life of him figure out what they were. He knew what they weren't though. They weren't stars, they weren't comets, they weren't planets, hell, they weren't even in space. They weren't insects, they weren't aurora borealis, they weren't some kind of fiery gas released from the earth... He didn't know what they were. All he knew was they were beautiful, filled him with hope like nothing else did, and he wanted to discover what they were. No amount of research had cracked the mystery. He'd have to go and look for himself. His eighteenth birthday was coming up, and maybe, just maybe, if he played it right, father Nogitsune would let him leave the tower. Just for a day. At least that was what Stiles told himself as he wasted an hour of his life every day trying to keep his hair neat and satisfactory. And clean. Cleaning it was the worst, but two days before father Nogitsune was to come home, Stiles took the time and energy to pump up enough water to soak the whole thing, scrub at it, dropping the soaped-up strands out the windoor, and rinsing them in the same way. He let it dry for three hours, and then brushed it, and let it dry some more, and brushed it again.  
His hair was pretty awesome when it was clean, he had to admit. The sun shining on it like that looked beautiful. He hoped his father would be pleased. And pacified. And find him mature enough to go out of the tower for one single day.

"Do you think he'll let me?" he asked Scott, sighing and looking at the sunset.

Scott shrugged and nodded, which Stiles translated as "sure, man, you're totally mature enough to go out of the tower."

"Thanks man," said Stiles, rubbing Scott's head with one finger.

He carefully coiled the hair, so it wouldn't tangle up again too much, and went to bed.

\-----

**Night times**

When he was ten, Stiles nearly suffocated in his own hair. He was having a nightmare, and even though father Nogitsune spent every night at the tower at the time, he didn't hear. Or didn't care, which was, admittedly, less likely.

Stiles moved a lot. During the day, he was constantly running around the tower, sometimes climbing on the roof, always jittery and vibrating, even when he was sitting down. During the night he tossed and turned, kicked at his covers. He hadn't had any actual problems before that particular night. It was the middle of April, and the tower was quite warm that night. After kicking his covers to the foot of his bed, Stiles fell asleep.

_Father Nogitsune was wrapping bandages around and around his body, around and around his face, covering his nose, his mouth, his eyes._

_"Only your hair matters about you," he said. "We can get rid of everything else."_

_The wrappings were tight, too tight, Stiles was too hot, and he couldn't see anything, and he couldn't breathe, and he was being pushed and prodded from all around, not only by father Nogitsune but by wolves and their sharp claws, men with pointy teeth, witches with their sticks, and he started struggling, fighting back, but he was tied up, and he was crying but he still couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe!!!_

He woke up with a start and hair wound tightly around mouth and nose, bawling his eyes out, completely panicked, clawing at his face. He choked around his first gulp of air, and started coughing and hiccuping, prying his hair away from his sticky face.

He would've cut it all off with relief and joy, but he couldn't. The punishment from two years ago was still too vivid in his mind. Instead, he crawled to his only source of reassurance, his only source of comfort, and got into father Nogitsune's bed. The man was nice to him, calmed him down, petted his hair, promised to braid it before bed so such an accident wouldn't happen again, brought him a glass of water, and hummed him back to sleep.

But ever since, Stiles didn't really consider his hair part of him. It was attached to him, sure, but like an unpractical piece of clothing, not like a limb. Trying to accept it once more, he learned to use it as a rope, as a whip, as a tool to make his life easier, but it still always felt out of place, too heavy, too complicated, too high-maintenance. It didn't matter. He still had to keep it. He had to take care of it. For father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this first chapter! Please comment if you did or if you see any typos/misspellings.


	2. of Horses and Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Nogitsune tells Stiles he can't go see the lights.  
> Enter Derek, robber extraordinaire.

When father came back at the end of the week, Stiles' hair was freshly brushed, and the boy was decided. He'd ask to see the lights. He had to ask. At worst, father would get angry, and Stiles had enough experience with that to deal, even if things got... _physical_.

He greeted father Nogitsune with genuine happiness, and rushed through the rejuvenating ritual, singing the song at about three times the normal speed as father barely had the time to take a strand of hair in hand.

"Well, what's gotten you in such a hurry?" asked the man, dazed by his speedy return to youth.

"So, you know how I'm eighteen in nine days?"

"Yes. Have you finally decided what you'd like for your birthday then?" asked father, unwrapping his bandages to reveal his handsome mid-thirties self.

"Yeah. Uh. Wait, look." 

Stiles grabbed one of his research books and thrust it between father Nogitsune and the mirror he was contemplating.

"See those? Those are an unexplained natural phenomenon that I'd like to investigate. A lot. So I thought, since I'm going to be eighteen, maybe you'd agree to take me with you next time you leave, and we could go and see them. Good idea? I thought so, I mean, more father-son bonding time, right? And then we could go and get those plants you always confuse with nettles, and..."

"Stiles," father Nogitsune gripped his wrist as Stiles was flailing his arms about. "No."

The boy gaped and spluttered in outrage, while a chameleon, hidden in the shadows, slowly shook his head.

"No? Why not? I'm mature enough, look at my hair! Look, perfect hair! And what could go wrong if I'm with you?!"

"I cannot protect you from everything Stiles. You will not leave the tower before you are able to defend yourself."

"But I am able to defend myself!"

Father Nogitsune snorted. It was not a pretty sound.

"Are you kidding? Look at yourself kid."

He lead Stiles to the mirror.

"You're about as tough as a bunch of twigs. Barely a man, just a sprout!"

"But..."

"Hush little boy, you know what I say. Father knows best!"

"Yes but..."

"I thought we'd gone over this lesson quite enough, listen to me, listen to your father! The world out there is not like you imagine, it's scary, full of ill-willed people who would capture you and torture you to get you to use your power. Politicians, witches, robbers, kidnappers, murderers, rapists, name the crime, you've got someone committing it right now, and probably not that far away from here!"

"Yes father, but..."

"And what about sickness! The plague, the rabies, you don't have a good immune system! You think I can protect you?! I'm flattered, but I only survive out there because I know how to be stealthy, and have allies in the right places. You don't have any such connections, and please, you trying to be stealthy? A bull in a china shop! You're uncoordinated, messy, immature, clumsy, no, Stiles, no, it would be cruel of me to make you go out there. No."

"Father, please..." all but whispered Stiles.

The man frowned and glared at the boy. Stiles knew that look. He took a step back.

"I said no. Do I need to make my decision more clear to you?" threatened father Nogitsune, taking a menacing step forwards, his hand going to his belt.

Stiles gulped, well-aware that he was being given a choice.

"No, no sir."

The man relaxed.

"Good. Now come here. I hate feeling like the bad guy."

Father Nogitsune spread his arms, expecting a hug, and Stiles had no option but to go to the man and be wrapped in the embrace.

After a minute of silence, during which Stiles mentally tried out all the arguments he could use to be allowed outside and considered what would be done to him if he dared voice them, father Nogitsune's voice rung out.

"I love you."

Stiles smiled softly, his brain calming down.

"I love you more," he answered.

"I love you most," concluded his father, placing a final kiss on Stiles' head and letting him go. "Now, ask for something else. What do you want for your birthday? You have to tell me before I leave after tomorrow."

Stiles contemplated for a small while.

"Oh, those gems, the crystals you brought from that cave once? The ones that shine in the dark? I'd like some of those, to complete my mural map of the sky."

Father Nogitsune frowned.

"That cave is at least a week away from here. I hoped to be back in time for your special day."

"Oh... But I can't really think of anything else I want..."

The man rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine, what I do for you. I suppose we'll throw a party a couple of days after the real date."

"Ooh, can we eat meat? And fried potatoes? Can you bring back some oil for that as well? I love fried potatoes!"

Father gave Stiles a satisfied smirk.

"I brought that back today," he announced, as he produced a bottle of cooking oil from his satchel.

Stiles held out his hands, delighted. Stuff fried in oil tasted so GOOD!

"Now don't use it at every meal, boy," said Father Nogitsune, handing the bottle to Stiles. "It should last for about a month, and we'll have fried potatoes at your birthday party."

"Thanks, father!"

"You know I like spoiling you."

Scott rolled his eyes from the shadows. Every time Stiles got a "present" the man made him feel indebted. It made Scott want to puke. And a chameleon could puke. He hadn't figured out everything about his body yet, but this much he knew, thanks to the one and only father Nogitsune.

\----

Derek was collaborating with the twins, Ethan and Aiden. They had a debt to the leader of their criminal gang, Deucalion, and needed Derek's quite extraordinary – if he said so himself – stealth and lock picking skills to steal what their leader wanted: the crown of the lost prince of Beacon Hills.  
According to his sources, corrupt guards and such, the crown was set in the middle of a memorial room, where the King and Queen kept paintings of their newborn son, in hopes to remember and recognize his face and mole pattern if he ever came back. The three men got on the palace roof, found the loose bricks and hidden hole made during a previous attempted robbery and opened it up. Derek went down a rope that Ethan and Aiden held, and that they'd haul up when he got his hands on the jewel. It all had to be done in complete silence, because there were guards in the room. It would already be difficult to leave the city undetected, if the alarm was roused it would be nearly impossible...

A guard sneezed.

"Bless you," muttered Derek.

The guard turned slowly and stared at him with wide eyes, and Derek realized what he'd just done. He blamed his older sister, she was the one who had always insisted on manners.

"Shit."

"INTRUDER! INTRUDER IN THE PALACE! GET HIM!"

Derek was yanked back up on the roof, crown in hand, and the robbers started running away as fast as they could.

"What happened?" demanded Aiden.

Derek scowled.

"He just turned around. Maybe he was bored."

"You're sure you didn't make any noise?" snapped Ethan, as they hid in a wine-cellar.

"Of course I'm sure," growled Derek.

It wouldn't do for his reputation to be tarnished by _good manners_ of all things.

They made it out if the city somehow. It was early in the morning, so the roads were empty, and apparently the night guard wasn't very well prepared. The crime-rate of Beacon Hills was low.

Their respite was short-lived, though. They'd barely hit the edge of the forest when they heard galloping hooves on the bridge to the town. They kept running, dodging around trees, trying to lose the horses and soldiers, and it was pure luck that made Derek spot the wolf den he finally hid in, escaping arrest. Ethan and Aiden were not so lucky. They tried to fight off the guards, but were outnumbered.

"We don't have it, we didn't steal anything!" spat Aiden.

Derek curled around his satchel. The crown was safe with him. As the guards took his accomplices away, Derek knew he had to go to Deucalion's HQ, give him the crown, and tell him the twins were in trouble. Problem was, he wasn't quite sure where their hide-hole was. A cave. Or a tower? Or was it an inconspicuous shack at the edge of a lake? He couldn't remember for the life of him. All he knew was that it was further North.

Derek started walking.

\-----

**The fucking horse**

The next day, Derek fell face to face with a horse from the royal guard. He first thought it was a good thing; he could steal the horse and move faster, go to check Deucalion's hiding places quickly, and get rid of that incriminating crown.

No.

The horse was possessed. That was the only possible explanation. When it saw him, it just charged, and tried to bite his satchel right off his shoulder. Thank the heavens for Derek's dexterity, he was able to catch the animal around the neck and be carried for a while, but when the horse noticed, it stopped, dropped, and rolled. Derek was nearly crushed, but he managed to get his satchel back, as the beast had unclenched its jaw when it hit the ground. The man didn't think twice after that. He ran away, unable to outrun a horse, but able to go places the animal couldn't possibly follow, up trees, in cramped places. He finally lost it when he jumped in a bunch of lilac that made the horse sneeze something fierce — Derek didn't know horses could sneeze, but he took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed, into some kind of valley, or cove. There was a high tower there. Maybe that was Deucalion's hiding place. No harm in checking, and if the horse wandered somewhere far away in the meantime, even better!

\-----

Stiles was chilling with Scott on his bed, after having finished cooking. Father had gone to gather blueberries for their last meal together before his trip, so Scott could come out and spend time with him. It was nice. They were having a friendly game of chess (Stiles was winning, but Scott was an amazing opponent, especially considering he was a chameleon), when Stiles heard something. A kind of dull thump. His eyes widened. That sounded suspiciously like someone jumping in from the windoor. He picked up the first blunt object he saw, which happened to be a baseball bat. Stiles was banned from baseball after trying to play inside, but he'd kept the bat, just next to his bed, in self-defense. In case someone came in. Hey, father Nogitsune painted a pretty terrifying image of the outside world, wanting to go out there did not mean Stiles was gonna be trusting and defenseless.

The boy crept around the squeaky floorboards, staying in the shadows, bat carefully raised. When he got to the windoor, he saw a dark muscular figure that was definitely NOT his father. Without thinking, he struck the intruder on the head, as hard as he could. The bat came down with a harsh CRACK and the figure wobbled before crumpling down on itself, falling with a THUMP.

Stiles' heart was hammering in his chest and his eyes were so wide he thought they might pop out. He'd fought an intruder and won! Hah! Take that! He wasn't some helpless child, he could defend himself, this was the proof!! Father would be so surprised, oh, the look on his face when he'd find out!!! One single blow, blam, intruder DOWN! Stiles pumped his fist in the air and started dancing around in celebration. Now father HAD to let him out, cause he'd been proven wrong SCIENTIFICALLY! The power of science, yeah! But Stiles wanted to set it up. Like a surprise of some sort. He decided to hide the man in the wardrobe, and open it dramatically to prove his point. Hell yeah!

He went to hide the man's satchel under one of the wobbly steps to the roof of the tower, a place that had succeeded in hiding things from father Nogitsune himself, when he saw something glint in the bag. He opened it and saw a crown. That man was either runaway royalty, or a thief. Stiles' money was on thief. Stiles gazed at the rich jewel. He really wanted to try it on, but he forced himself out of the distraction, stuffed the crown back in the satchel, hid it, and went back to the intruder. He dragged him over to the wardrobe and tried to stuff him inside it without killing either of them. It was not an easy task. An unconscious man was apparently pretty fucking heavy, and Stiles' noodle arms and lack of coordination were not helping. He finally managed, with minor bruising on his part. The guy's face was probably broken though, which was a shame; it was a pretty face.

"Stiles! Let down your hair!"

The boy rushed to the windoor, eager to show father what he was capable of.

"I found a lot of blueberries, they are going to be delicious!" announced the man as he came in.

"Cool, thanks father!" exclaimed Stiles. "Hey, before we start eating, remember what you said about me not being able to defend myself?"

Father Nogitsune froze. His gaze sharpened, and his voice turned hard.

"Stiles, we are not talking about this again. I will not allow you to go outside."

"Well, you might want to consider that..."

"Please don't ruin my last evening with you, boy."

"No, I'm not going to! Please just listen to me!"

Father Nogitsune threw up his hands in exasperation. Stiles flinched.

"Why are you always so stubborn?!"

"You're even worse than I am!" spat Stiles. "You don't even know what I'm going to say and you shut it down!"

"Oh, I know what you're going to say! You're going to wind a wild tale of scientific proofs and how puberty is upon you, and try to wriggle yourself in my head to make me feel guilty for protecting you!"

Stiles felt indignation course through his veins.

"Just look!" he yelled, and threw the wardrobe's door open.

The wardrobe was empty. Stiles stared in shock as Father Nogitsune raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Look at what?"

"I... There was..."

"What did you hallucinate this time, Stiles?"

"... This one was real," whispered Stiles. He was so sure that it was. He hadn't had hallucinations in years.

"Apparently not. I thought you were able to control your imagination now. Yet another reason to keep you in here. What did you think was in the wardrobe?"

"A man."

"And how would he have climbed up here?"

"... I don't know."

Father Nogitsune huffed and wrapped an arm around Stiles' shoulders.

"Can we stop fighting and eat our lovely meal now?" sighed the man.

Stiles nodded, defeated. If he was hallucinating again, that was not good.

"Uhm, if I'm having... Hallucinations again... Do you really think you should leave?" he asked in a small voice.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. I'll only be gone two weeks."

Stiles gulped and nodded. He needed Scott. Scott had been the one to stop his hallucinating last time. He needed Scott.

Their meal was silent and swift, and even though it was delicious, Stiles could not bring himself to feel better. Father Nogitsune hugged him tightly before leaving.

"Don't worry too much about your hallucination, all right? I'm sure it was a one-time thing."

"Yes father."

It never was a one-time thing.

"Goodbye Stiles."

"Bye. Have a good trip."

As soon as he'd waved his father away, Scott jumped on his shoulder. The cursed chameleon looked panicked, and he hit Stiles' face with his tail.

"Ow, man, what?"

Scott pointed at the bat, and behind him, and made a frowny face and mimicked claws. Stiles' eyes widened. He scrambled to grab the bat and turned around warily.

Scott and Stiles had become experts in miming to communicate. The man was not a hallucination, and he was still here. Awake.

"Okay!" called out Stiles. "I know you're lurking in the shadows somewhere, so just, show yourself, get out, and I won't hurt you!"

\-----

**Stiles' "wild imagination"**

Stiles started hallucinating things just before he was ten years old. At first they weren't too bad. He thought a bird flew in the tower, or he could swear a tree had grown in his bed during the night. At first, Father Nogitsune punished him for lying, but then, the hallucinations became more frequent and worse. Stiles saw dogs attacking him and eating his legs. Stiles saw father Nogitsune jumping out of the tower with nothing to save him from death. Stiles saw his hair move on its own, like a snake. Stiles saw his hair coiling around his father and choking him to death. Stiles hallucinated being beaten up by his father, with a stick, with a belt, which would both happen for real in the following years, but would not leave Stiles on the brink of death, heaving on the floor, persuaded all his limbs were broken.

They came in waves, every couple of months, for no obvious reasons. Father Nogitsune witnessed most of them. He said Stiles started shaking, and stared wide eyed at nothing, frozen except for his trembling, and that nothing could wake him up from his trance-like state. When Stiles woke up, he was always kneeling on the ground, trembling, crying, and dry-heaving or vomiting. It was horrible. He took days to get over them, and he never knew when they'd start again.

Then, two years later, Scott came into the picture. Stiles tried to tell his father about him, but he was dismissed, and told it was another hallucination – admittedly a tame one – and that he should stop dreaming and reading about mythical creatures so much, that it was clearly addling his brain if he thought he saw a chameleon acting like a human.

But Stiles knew Scott was real, because Scott was in his pocket the whole time, and would lick his finger when Stiles put his hand near him. In addition to that, the piece of paper with SCOT splotched onto it was still there. Real.

Stiles never hallucinated about Scott. Sometimes he dreamed of him, but only at night, and only pleasant dreams. Scott had a calming effect on him, and whenever he had a hallucination, he just had to check for Scott, realize the chameleon was nowhere to be found, and realize whatever he was seeing was not real. When the realization came, it was much easier to get out if it and back into the real world. And he'd always find Scott softly butting his hand with his head when he came to.

The hallucinations stopped completely when Stiles was fourteen. All thanks to Scott. All thanks to an odd little chameleon.

\-----

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

Derek had regained consciousness when he fell on his face, while a weirdly long-haired kid was trying to hide him in a giant closet. He had no fucking clue where he was, or who had attacked him, and he was feeling very woozy, so he faked being knocked-out and let himself be stored between a bunch of shoes and clothes. As his senses came back to him, he decided to get the fuck out of there as fast as possible, even though he very probably had a concussion. When he heard the kid's footsteps walk away, he immediately slid out of the wardrobe and silently climbed into the rafters to hide. The kid was throwing his hair through the window. What. Then there was a man, and they started fighting. Derek panicked a bit when the boy threw the closet's door open, but it looked like they weren't going to look for him. Perfect. He could slip out of a window and climb back down to go deliver that blasted crown. Towers were definitely crossed off of his mental Where-Is-Deucalion-Hiding list.  
...  
Oh shit he didn't have his satchel with him anymore. The kid must've taken it when he saw the jewel. Derek groaned silently. Searching the tower while staying undetected would be very difficult. Maybe he should wait for the people to finish their meal and fall asleep. In like, ten hours. It was long, but they clearly weren't concerned about him.

While he waited, a chameleon suddenly jumped on him. Derek jerked, and nearly fell off the rafters. What the hell. This made less and less sense every second. The chameleon was... Growling? And waving menacing fists towards him. Derek made an unimpressed face. He didn't even want to know. He picked up the creature and put it aside. It scuttled away, and Derek was relieved, for all of fifteen minutes. Then the man left and the boy's voice rung out.

"Okay!" he called, and sounded somewhat terrified. "I know you're lurking in the shadows somewhere, so just, show yourself, get out, and I won't hurt you!"

Derek sighed. He crept along the ceiling and observed the kid from above. He was looking for him in the most unlikely places, checking up the chimney and under the rugs. Derek let himself fall silently behind him. He was about to grab the bat when the blasted chameleon saw him and screeched. The long-haired boy turned with a wild flail, and caught Derek across the temple. With the bat. Jesus Christ. Derek took a few wobbly steps backwards and let himself fall into a chair.

Before he even knew it, he was tied up. With hair. The kid had enough hair to tie him up in a chair. This was completely surreal. It was just Derek's luck to fall on psychos, but not the psychos he was actually looking for. Fuck his life.

He glared at the kid, who didn't seem fazed. He held the bat over one shoulder and smirked triumphantly.

"Ha! Couldn't sneak up on me!"

Derek growled and the kid took two quick steps backwards. The man felt his lips twitch. He still had it.

There suddenly was something wet in his ear and Derek had to stifle a yelp. He settled on jerking away from the sensation so violently that the chair nearly toppled. He turned his head and saw the chameleon.

"What the fuck is wrong with that thing?" he growled.

"Hey, Scott is my best friend!" said the kid, sounding offended.

Derek lifted one bushy eyebrow.

"That's pretty sad."

The creature all but growled and tried to punch the Derek with its tongue. The man yelped at the slimy sensation and jerked back, and the chair toppled backwards fully this time.

"Oh shit, are you okay?" asked the kid, rushing to right the chair.

"Are you talking to me or to your 'best friend'?" sneered Derek, betting on the latter.

The boy rolled his eyes and picked up his pet, which he put on his shoulder.

"Look, I think you and me, we can find a deal, all right? A deal that will be beneficial to both of us."

"What on earth could I want from you?" Derek asked disdainfully.

"Uh, your satchel and your crown?" taunted the boy.

Derek frowned deeper.

"Giving me back something you stole from me isn't a benefit," grumbled Derek.

Not that he had any choice but to listen.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you stole it first," stated the kid carelessly. "I want you to escort me out of here, so I can finally go and see the lights, and then bring me back."

Apparently feeling like he'd said enough, the boy stopped talking.

"What lights," deadpanned Derek.

The kid rolled his whole head back and started flailing.

"Oh come on! Thousands of floating lights? Rise to the sky every year a week from now? Ring a bell? If you're from around here you must have seen them."

Derek just stared at him.

"Well, have you seen them?" insisted the boy.

"Yes," grunted Derek.

"Good. So you'll take me there, close enough so I can observe them and see what they are, and then you'll bring me back here, and then I'll give you your crown back. What's your name?"

No. No, Derek had to shut this down.

"Derek. Look kid —" he started.

"Stiles."

What.

"... Bless you?"

"No, that's my name. Stiles. Well, Stilespunzel, technically, but that's weird and long so just call me Stiles."

What the hell kind of name was that? Derek shook his head.

"... All right whatever. Look Stiles, I have to deliver that crown. If I don't I'll get killed."

"Well, you can either deliver it after you take me see the lights, or never."

Derek stared at Stiles. The boy didn't get it.

"What part of 'I'll get killed' is not reaching your brain? And if you're with me, you'll also be a target."

Stiles shrugged. Derek wanted to slap him.

After a long and fruitless staring contest, Stiles shrugged.

"I can do this all day, Derek."

Derek rolled his eyes, hard.

"Fine!"

The boy grinned in triumph.

"But you do what I say," added Derek. "Or I'll rip your throat out. With my teeth."

Derek didn't even have the time to appreciate Stiles' weary look before the chameleon attacked his face again, making him fall backwards. Again. Fuck his life. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! ^^ See you next chapter


	3. of Ruffians and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snuggly Duckling. Need I say more?

Stiles and Derek went to the windoor. Derek started climbing down, using the irregularities in the bricks, and Stiles gaped at him for a while. That was a very impressive skill. No wonder Derek had climbed up with no rope or anything, he was really nimble! The young man shook himself out of it and slung his hair over the metal hook that was there for that very purpose. He tentatively sat on the ledge and looked down. He really hoped this would work.

With a startled yelp and a mad cackle, Stiles whizzed past Derek, using his hair as a rope on a pulley, a bit too fast for a comfortable landing. The boy toppled over and rolled on the ground, letting go of the bat he'd insisted on taking with him, held back only by the hair that was still stuck at his window. Derek rolled his eyes and jumped down the last few meters while Stiles tugged at the stuck hair.

"C'mon... C'mon..."

The hair slipped down after a few more tentative tugs, and pooled around Stiles. Derek looked at it, while Stiles sniffed the air, a look of awe on his face. Out in the open, the robber could see there was even more hair than he'd expected. Too much. This was going to be so impractical.

"Why do you have so much hair?" he demanded to know.

"None of your business," shot back Stiles with a dirty look.

Derek pressed his lips together.

"Well you can't walk around with it all over the place."

"Why? I've always done that."

Derek rolled his eyes and just walked away. The faster they got there, the faster he could get the crown back. Or maybe the hair would discourage Stiles. That could work too.  
After a few steps, Derek realized Stiles wasn't following. He turned around to Stiles kneeling in the grass, gently running his fingers through the blades and flowers.

What.

"What are you doing?"

Stiles lifted his amazed gaze towards the man. He looked completely dreamy and overwhelmed.

"Grass is awesome. Oh my God I never knew what it looked like up close, I just thought it was like, a green mass or something, but no, look, it's thousands of small leaves, and weeds, and flowers, I never saw those flowers from up there, they're way too small, but I love them. They're so blue, like a piece of sky on earth. Just let me..."

And the kid went back to _actually caressing_ the ground, which was really odd.

When Derek finally pried Stiles away from _grass_ of all things, finally realizing that it wasn't an exaggeration, the kid had literally never left the tower, how sick was that, he discovered rapidly that accepting the "bargain" was going to make his life a living hell. Stiles was constantly freaking out, either running around in excitement, staying stuck in awe in front of the least interesting of things, or at the very edge of a panic attack. Those were warded off by the chameleon, somehow. The chameleon signed, and Stiles answered. Hell, they were doing it right then.

"Yeah, you're right, I've gotta. ... I know he'll never find out, but what if he does? I'm scared Scott. ... No, we already discussed this, I can't leave him."

The chameleon rolled each eye in an opposite direction and gestured wildly.

"I know what you think about him, Scott, okay? And I even agree with some of your points, but he's my _father_. Damnit, I can't do this to him, he'll kill me."

And the hyper-ventilating started again.

Derek sighed and crouched next to the boy. The chameleon growled, and Derek glared at it.

"Look, if you aren't sure you want to do this, we can go back inside. No use putting yourself in danger and crushing your father's heart over floating lights."

Stiles lifted wide watery eyes towards Derek.

"You think it'll crush his heart?"

"He trusts you to stay inside doesn't he?" Derek forced himself to say. "And you're not inside. Breaking someone's trust can break their heart. Believe me, I know."

Derek actually felt like shit when the hyperventilating worsened, and Stiles started muttering to himself about lost trust and consequences. He felt less bad when the chameleon jumped at him yet again and managed to poke him in the eye with its tongue. Revolting. He tried to fling the small beast away, but it evaded his swat and scurried up Stiles' arm to nuzzle in his neck.

"No."

Derek startled. Stiles' tone of voice was steely.

"Father has to realize that I've grown up. I can take care of myself."

Derek lifted an eyebrow.

"Then why do you need me?"

"You're proof I can take care of myself. I've blackmailed you into protecting me, right? That has to count for something."

Scott nodded vigorously, and Derek groaned silently as Stiles stood up, taking deep controlled breaths.

"Let's go."

"Fine."

There could be other ways to deter Stiles than building on the apparent emotional mess his relationship with his father was.  
Like going to the Snuggly Duckling three hours later, when Stiles pointed out he was getting hungry and they should stop for a picnic.

"Don't waste your food when there's an inn near by."

"But I don't have any money," pointed out Stiles.

"I have a tab. Let's go."

Derek started walking decisively towards the inn. He didn't feel bad for doing this, it was necessary, he _had_ to scare Stiles off, or they'd both die to the hands of Deucalion's men. Having the kid kept prisoner in a tower for the rest of his days was not Derek's problem. Nope, nope, not his problem.

Stiles followed, babbling to his chameleon.

"Oh god I'm gonna meet new people? I can't believe it. See Scott! I'm already expanding my social circle and making connections. I can make it out here, father was wrong!"

If the "social circle" Stiles was going to encounter in the Snuggly Duckling didn't put Stiles off exploring the world for ever, Derek didn't know what would.

Derek pushed Stiles in front of him and propelled him inside, following closely.

"Hi," he said loudly.

The conversations stopped, and everyone turned towards them. Stiles gasped audibly and tried to take a step back, bumping into Derek's front. Scott changed to a pale green then desperately tried to blend with Stiles' hair color. Derek grinned.

This was the joint of all the cut-throats of the region. It was where Derek went to sell stolen goods, and find contracts. Today, it was packed full. Boyd was arm-wrestling with Erica, and he would win if she didn't use her dirty little tricks. But as all tricks were allowed at the Snuggly Duckling, he was probably losing. Isaac was there, the necklace made of his father's teeth dangling from his neck, Jackson at his side, both cleaning and sharpening their weapons in preparation for their next contract. Peter was side-eying Chris Argent, who could blame him for being cautious after killing the man's crazy sister, while Argent drank a pint with Braeden, mercenary, femme-à-tout-faire, as they probably prepared their next smuggling trip. Both Kira and Lydia looked frozen in the midst of a spearing session. 

Derek pushed forward and tried not to snigger too obviously as Stiles lifted his bat defensively.

"Hi Lydia, Kira. Nice sword Jackson, back from a recent contract? Killing contract," he added, for Stiles' benefit.

Jackson sneered, and suddenly, Lydia stepped in front of them, frowning.

"Derek. You are not welcome here."

Derek blinked.

"Why not?"

Lydia's face turned sour.

"You know Deucalion's men can't come here."

Derek frowned.

"I'm not. It's just one job."

"It always starts with one job."

"But sometimes that's all it is, Lydia. One job."

"How do I know we can trust you?"

"You don't."

"Well then, since you refuse to get out, I suppose we could get in on the reward there is for your head nowadays, traitor."

All the others had come nearer in a menacing ring that was closing in around them.

"Reward?"

"Yes, apparently your new friends blabbed, and gave out a fairly accurate description of you in exchange for freedom."

Lydia was handed a tattered piece of paper. She shook it to straighten it out, and thrust it towards Derek. He stared.  
It was quite clearly him, but the nose was...

"Oh my God they completely butchered your nose! You look like a piglet!" snorted Stiles, and he started full-out laughing at Derek's wanted poster.

Derek was more concerned about the _huge amount of money_ he was worth. All that for stealing an unused crown? Wasn't that a bit excessive?

"As you can see, we could all do with that kind of money. Get him."

Lydia snapped her fingers and everyone else just leaped on him simultaneously. Derek shoved Stiles to the side to protect him, and thus didn't have time to duck out of Boyd's way as the man tackled him. He snarled and rolled with the momentum, pushing Boyd into a wall, only to be assaulted with Erica and her razor-sharp nails. He punched her in the gut as she scratched his neck, and she folded in two, gasping, but Isaac and Jackson were already onto him, knives out, followed closely by Chris, and Braeden was now behind him somehow, and he was going to be overpowered and given to the royal guards for sure, his friends were strong, and they weren't his friends anymore, and they needed the money, and...

"STOP IT! STOP!"

Derek took a face-full of hair and spluttered, pushing off the people around him. He was confused as to how exactly Stiles had managed to tangle up about ten angry outlaws with just the help of his hair and a bat, but he'd suspend his disbelief for now, as it had just basically saved his life.

\-------

Stiles wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but he'd been able to control his hair even more precisely than usual for a second, like it could move on its own if he thought hard enough. Anyway, he didn't have the time to ponder, the brawl was interrupted for now, he'd better start talking before someone extracted themselves from their capillary net.  
He addressed the fiercely beautiful redhead, as she appeared to be in charge.

"Look, you can't take him now, I hired him to escort me. A Stiles needs his man-guide."

He meant to continue explaining, but the redhead lifted a hand to cut him off, and disdainfully asked:

"What. The hell. Is a stiles?"

"It's me, it's my name. Is it not a normal name?" flailed Stiles.

"No," she answered haughtily.

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Fine, beautiful but terrifying woman. That doesn't change the fact that you can't kill him. Or take him. I need him to fulfill my dream, my dream of scientific exploration and discovery. Don't you have a dream?"

"Is that a pick-up line?"

Stiles snorted.

"No."

"Then yes, I do have a dream. My dream is to sell that traitor to the palace guards and get filthy rich!" she hissed, pointing a sharp finger towards Derek.

"Hear, hear!" yelled the rest of the bandits.

Stiles winced.

"No, come on, I mean a real dream, you know? The ones you hold onto and that you think of at night, before falling asleep, or whenever you feel down..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," rang out an obnoxious voice.

A tall, blond guy stepped out of the hair.

"'Course I have a dream. People think I'm cold and deadly, like a snake, rather scaly. No one tries to see what is inside — except you Isaac. But if anyone looked closely, they'd see what I want mostly. Lydia, doll, that's you. Please marry me!"

Lydia – the redhead – gasped, and tossed the hair that was restraining her aside to go and punch the blond guy in the arm.

"That's how you propose to me? You'd better do it over in a romantic setting, Jackson, or I might decide to pursue _my_ dream!"

Lydia flung her hair over her shoulder, and walked, clacking her heels, over to the bar. She hopped and sat on it, scornfully eyeing the others.

"Well what is it?" piped up an Asian girl. Lydia smirked.

"My dream? Darlings, listen well, I hardly ever kiss and tell, but my passion resides in things unknown. Like that kid with all the hair, the world's mysteries are where I dwell. I really want to be a royal scientist!"

"She's got a dream?" rhetorically asked a curly haired young man.

"Apparently," said someone Stiles couldn't see.

"She's got a dream!" squealed the Asian girl.

The curly guy lifted his eyebrows.

"I always thought Lydia just cared about her hair— Ow!"

Jackson cuffed him upside the head.

"Shut up Isaac, you only care about your hair!" quipped Jackson.

"Hey, that's not true!" protested Isaac. "I care about lots of stuff."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! I may be silent and somewhat creepy, after all we killed my daddy, and his teeth still clink and clank around my neck."

Stiles took a step back, and Isaac got free of the hair. What seemed like a misshapen pearl necklace clinked around his neck and Stiles stared in horrified awe. Those were teeth. Oh.

"But my end goal – don't you dare laugh – is quite simple and quite peaceful. I want to own a house and fish on my own little deck."

"Fishing? What are you, an old man?"

"Shut up you're the one getting settled with a _wife_. Say goodbye to your freedom, and your balls."

"Ooh, I have a dream! Can I say my dream?" piped up the Asian girl excitedly.

Lydia turned to her.

"Yes Kira, go on."

"We all have dreams! I want to find true love, Erica is passionate about manicure, Chris likes knitting, Braeden sewing, and Boyd collects tiny ceramic unicorns! Peter wants to lead us all, and Derek—"

"Shut up!" shouted Derek, cutting short Kira's happy dancing around.

The girl looked guilty for a second, before the others started booing and yelling:

"Come ooon Der!"

"Yeah we all said our dreams!"

"Kira said all your dreams," snapped Derek.

"Say your dream! Say your dream!"

"No," he growled.

The atmosphere lost some of its festive quality, and everyone glared at Derek, slowly unsheathing their weapons. So Stiles took it as his cue to intervene.

"Hey, I've got a dream! Since I started all this I think it's only fair if I get to share it!"

"Ooh, yes!" exclaimed Kira.

Stiles liked her. He smiled and started.

"I may be awkward and scrawny, and I'm probably not deadly, but I still decided to go and explore the world! I want to see what those lights are, all for scientific discovery, and every time I see something new, I'm so glad I left my tower! My father can suck it 'cause I've got a dream!"

"Yeah! Fuck asshole fathers who lock you up and beat you up. Want me to kill yours for you?" enquired Isaac with a dark glint in his eye.

Stiles laughed nervously.

"No thanks, but thank you for the offer!"

Isaac opened his mouth to answer, when a girl barged into the room.

"THE ROYAL GUARD IS HERE! HIDE THE ILLEGAL STUFF, WANTED PEOPLE GET OUT!!"

Stiles flailed around, knocking his hand into Derek's face, and was about to panic – if he was in prison he couldn't see the lights – when Lydia caught him by the collar of his shirt and lead him behind the bar.

"There's a secret way out, a tunnel that will lead you to the abandoned mines. Take it, and fulfill your dream, it's a nice dream, and I can relate to it."

Stiles beamed.

"Thanks Lydia."

She pulled on one of the beer taps, shoved Stiles and Derek through the secret passageway that opened, handed Derek a lantern, and closed the door, encasing them in obscurity.

\---

_Thank you for the offer._  
_Thank you for the offer?!_

The Nogitsune stiffened in the shadows. He'd come to this dump to find money, trade a few stolen goods, and be on his way to the cave. He didn't expect to find the boy _outside and openly defying him, his power, his control_ , and, worst of all, becoming aware of the manipulation, aware that his life wasn't normal.

This was very bad. He wanted to barge in, grab the child, drag him back to the tower and beat him so he'd never dare to even move a step towards the outside world. But it was too late. Stiles had made friends. He'd have to be persuaded otherwise, he had to be shattered by the world, his trust broken, his feelings trampled, and then, only then, could father Nogitsune have him back. He would "save" him, take him back with open arms when the boy came running back, broken. Yes. Now, to make sure he would break...

The royal guard interrupted his dark brooding. He faded away. Wouldn't want the most wanted criminal in the land to get caught now, would we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) Hope you enjoyed!


	4. of Woodland Creatures and Assassins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter new characters and their massive BACKSTORY DUMP!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry

Malia was born a coyote, a small cub among cubs. She spent a couple of summers happy, a yipping innocent animal of the woods, until her entire family got slaughtered by hunters for scaring the game away. Malia survived and ran. She lived alone for a while, scared, but angry. Very angry. She never forgot what the hunters had done, and looked for ways of getting revenge.

One day, she found a weird fountain in the middle of the woods, and drank from it. Stop judging, it was a stupid move but she was thirsty, okay! Yes, it was a cursed fountain. A fountain that turned men into beasts and beasts into men. She became a bipedal creature, with only two teats, opposable thumbs, and no fur, but she didn't lose her sense of smell. She took this as her opportunity to take revenge. She could go to the humans, learn their ways, and kill the bastards that had slaughtered her family!

Unfortunately, she was only seven years old, and a naked child wandering in the forest, growling to communicate, trying to catch mice and birds to survive was not exactly a threat. She was on the brink of starvation when she got to the town of her enemies, and collapsed on the side of the road, caked in mud and dirt, still naked.

The royal guard thought she was some kind of beast, and took her in to protect the citizens. When they realized she was just a little girl, who looked like she'd been severely neglected and abandoned, they washed and fed her, and took her to the king.

King Stilinski took pity on the child. She was about the age of his lost son, and he feared his only heir had suffered a similar fate. He arranged for her to be taken care of and taught how to speak, and he and his wife regularly went to visit her in her new home.

Malia learned the words of the humans quickly. She recounted her story of being a coyote, which no one believed, and the slaughter of her family, which they thankfully did. But they wouldn't punish the hunters. The hunters would not kill humans, they said. You must be mistaken, child, it must've been the dreaded Deucalion. He goes around and kills people for no reason sometimes. If only we could stop him...  
So Malia grew up, learned how to act human, learned to write and read and count and stitch, learned about the laws and customs of the town she was in, learned how to fight with no claws, no fangs, and entered the royal guard when she was seventeen.

She caught the hunters in the middle of killing innocent carnivores, brought them to trial, and threw them in prison. Now her debt was settled, now she could become coyote again. But she liked being human. She'd made friends, and King John and Queen Claudia considered her their protégée, and they had already lost one child...

She stayed.

Malia became the best guard Beacon Hills had ever seen. Smart, fast... Invaluable. So of course, she got cursed and changed into a horse after apprehending a witch that no one else had been able to catch. Everyone was shocked, but Malia just took it in tow. Screw that, horse or not, she was still the best, and her latest mission was to find Derek Hale. That filthy robber had slipped right between her paws. Fingers. Uh, hooves. Whatever. He had escaped and he would pay.

Maybe the witch had fucked up, or maybe horses actually had a very good nose, but Malia discovered she had yet again kept her coyote sense of smell throughout the transformation, and was therefore able to track people or things, by scent, just like a dog, only better because she was smarter.

And this was how she'd lead the royal guard's best troop to this shabby inn in the middle of the woods. His scent lead her here. She barged in, trying to growl as best she could and letting out a strange-sounding whinny.

There were a few scents she knew in the air, not from the crown room but from other thefts or murder scenes, but that wasn't her focus right now. She wanted Hale. She ignored her fellow guards, some of whom started asking questions, and followed her target. His smell lead to behind the bar and disappeared. A secret exit, or a scent-proof stash for smuggled goods, she reckoned. Yes, there was the faint outline of a hidden door-trap. Malia sniffed around, and noticed one of the beer distributors did not smell like beer. She pushed it and neighed in triumph when it opened a secret passageway. She jumped straight into it. Hale was done for.

\-----

Allison was born and raised an outlaw. Her mother was of a higher lineage than her father, and the former's parents did not accept their daughter's union. So, they ran. Chris Argent's rogue father, Gerard, and outlaw sister, Kate, helped them out at first, and they began working together, fulfilling contracts, making allies and enemies. Allison was brought up in the midst of hidden safe-places, smuggled goods, weapon training, and the casual mention of killing someone for money. Kate liked talking about that a lot. Allison liked Kate, and idealized her when she was a child. Then, she grew up.

When she was fifteen and deemed old enough to choose in what type of criminal activity she wanted to specialize, she answered assassin, to her father's surprise and disapprobation, and to her mother's worried pride.

"You will have to have a will and a heart of steel, Allison," her mother had said. "You will have to control your emotions. You can't kill a man if your hands are shaking."

"She's too young!" had yelled her father. "She doesn't know what she's choosing! Allison, I forbid you..."

"Shut up Chris," had snapped her grandfather. "Your daughter can choose her own path."

Kate had said nothing, but had smirked from the shadows, and had ruffled Allison's hair when she'd left the room.  
She took Allison with her at her next contract, said she could be her "little helper" and finish off the kill to see how she liked it, and get a bit of "extra allowance" out of it.

Allison wasn't naive, but she also wasn't cold and uncaring like Kate, whose moral compass was questionable at its best. It was... Difficult, killing a man. Even if he was just a far away shadow she pierced with an arrow. But at least, she knew the man had killed and tortured. That made it a bit easier.

Allison refused contracts sometimes, which Kate never did. Allison refused to kill people for no reason, Kate did it all the time if there was money to get out of it. Allison refused to kill children, Kate did not. She just doubled the fee. The girl grew weary of her aunt, started questioning who Kate really was, and how she was able to sleep at night when Allison still had flashes of her arrows sinking into human flesh, drawing blood, causing death. The bodies falling with a gurgle and a thump. The stale taste in her mouth when she pocketed the money.

Allison never spoke to the clients. Chris had blank-out refused for her to ever show her face. A wanted poster is for life, he'd said. He still hoped his daughter would once be able to leave the life. But since Allison never talked to the commissioners, she had to rely on what Kate told her about the victims to decide wether she took the contract or not. And sometimes, Kate lied. Sometimes, the man they killed wasn't the corrupt drug dealer that his mob wanted dead. Sometimes, it was just a merchant with a family that had overheard the wrong conversation. And Kate took more and more liberties, sometimes deciding to kill people who didn't even have a price on their head... And one day, age seventeen, Allison found out.

Allison sent a flaming arrow on what she thought was the hideout of a gang of thieves and cut-throats, and that Kate had doused in flammable liquid in the middle of the night. But it was not a hideout. It was the Hale house. Most of the Hale family, children, old people, at least fifteen innocent people died in the flames, just because Kate had become obsessed with the Hale son, and had decided they should all die when he'd rejected her.

When Allison found out, she lost her head for a while. She was enraged, and jumped on Kate, trying to hit her, trying to hurt her. If her father hadn't been there to stop her, her aunt would probably have killed her. Kate was an expert one-on-one knife fighter after all, and Allison was a long distance archer.  
Allison's family moved away. Her mother's parents were long dead, but Allison's mom and dad were still weary of their town of origin. So they went further away, a place where they'd hidden with no contracts before, a place Gerard and Kate didn't particularly like. A place that wasn't tainted by Allison's murders. Beacon Hills.

There, they tried to integrate society. Chris Argent first went to be a blacksmith. It worked for a while, but Beacon Hills already had a blacksmith, that everyone liked, and who was just as efficient as Chris. So the business failed. And habits die hard. Chris found the Beacon Hills underground activity, realized it was more of a peripheric activity, and started getting involved, hiding his new job to his daughter and wife.

Long story short, his wife got involved anyway, and his daughter became part of the Beacon Hills royal guard. Don't ask. Rebellious teens will do things like that. But even though it complicated everything, Chris was happy Allison found a way out. And if it meant she was now supposed to arrest both her parents if she "discovered" what they did, and thus had decided to cut all ties instead, then so be it. He did miss her a lot, but he'd rather she be safe and happy than stuck in a life that she wasn't made for.

But to see his daughter burst inside the Snuggly Duckling, a helmet obscuring her face, and start questioning Isaac while deliberately avoiding her father's gaze still made Chris' heart clench painfully.

\-----

"Hey, officer," drawled Isaac as one of the royal guards came towards him.

She looked at him sharply and unfolded one of Derek's wanted posters in front of him. The nose was still wrong, but on this one, it made Derek look like he had a beak.

"Have you seen this man?" the guard asked.

Isaac squinted, and pretended to consider his answer.

"Hmmmm nope. If I had, I'd be pretty rich right now."

"And if you're lying, you could be arrested for obstruction of the law."

Isaac raised both his hands.

"Hey, not my fault you have crappy artists draw your posters. I've never seen anyone with a nose _that_ big."

The girl frowned, and was going to keep pressing when the horse they'd brought in found their secret exit and jumped in it, whinnying loudly. The guard shot Isaac one last sharp look and took off running towards the tunnel, closely followed by all her comrades. Isaac shrugged. Too bad for Derek and that Stiles kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So even though there was little to no action and this was just backstories everywhere, I hope this chapter was still enjoyable.  
> More action next time.  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. of Canyons and Escapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek try to outrun the guards

Derek lit the torch and started walking fast. Stiles stumbled along, trying to keep the same pace and not rip all his hair out as it dragged on the uneven floor behind him.

"So... Why were you so defensive about your dream? And don't tell me you don't have one, everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one. I basically had to save your ass a second time back there because of that. And you could've just invented something, I'm pretty certain Isaac's dream isn't _really_ to spend his life recluse and fishing, considering he killed his own—"

"Shut up. You don't know them," ordered Derek defensively.

Stiles stared at him for a few steps.

"No, you're right, I don't, but you do. And if you're so close to them, then why did they attack you and call you a traitor? Who's Deucalion and why do they hate him? Come to think of it, everything I've learned about you so far is pretty worrying, should I be worried?"

Derek started to growl an annoyed answer – or just growl, Stiles wasn't sure – when a sound straight from the nether worlds of doom reverberated through the tunnel. Stiles shouted in fear, and Derek swore. 

"It's the horse. Run!"

He caught Stiles by the wrist and tugged. Stiles shook free of his grip and started gathering his hair, so it wouldn't slow him down, or worse, get him caught. Derek understood quickly and helped, gathering what Stiles couldn't carry and taking off pulling Stiles along by the biceps. Stiles didn't resist, and ran as fast as he could, trying not to trip on anything.

The tunnel started going up, but Stiles still couldn't see any light. He was going to ask how long the tunnel was when Derek took a sharp turn left, and they emerged at the surface, in the middle of an empty mine. The sun was setting, it was later that Stiles thought, but Derek didn't seem surprised and kept running like he knew the route.

They had barely covered a hundred meters when the galloping horse burst from the tunnel, shortly followed by royal guards on foot. To top it off, they arrived at a cliff. The mine was built in height, as it was previously covered by a waterfall that was now stopped by the huge dam that towered over them. Stiles understood this, really, there were good useful minerals in this kind of terrain, he knew a lot of random shit about mining, there was a book somewhere in the tower, but did they _have_ to make the path going down into the lower levels of the mine and towards the valley below so _narrow_?!

Derek also spotted the problem, but noticed a solution: the pulley system used to pass tools from a platform to another. He forcefully pushed Stiles so he was standing in a basket, handed him the rope with an order to "hold on!" and before Stiles had the time to panic at being pushed off the ledge, he was standing on solid rock again.

Derek climbed down the rope after him, and grabbed the hair he'd let go.

"Come on!"

There was a rickety bridge linking one side of the canyon-mine to the other. Derek went towards it, but before he could take a step forward, Ethan and Aiden appeared on it and started crossing towards them, a murderous look on their faces. Derek backtracked and let go of Stiles. He took out his dagger and slashed at the old ropes holding up the bridge, and it swung down, cutting off Ethan and Aiden's route for now, as they scrambled back and held onto the bridge for dear life. Derek felt a sense of triumph at effectively protecting Stiles – who knew where _that_ came from..? – till a war cry erupted behind him.

Stiles was fending off soldiers, swinging his bat wildly, making most of them step back, and hitting hard those not fast enough to get out of the way. There were a few bloody noses already. Derek started going to him to help, but suddenly, the horse came sliding down the steep _steep_ wall, following the narrow path as best as it could, in an epically suicidal move. Derek would have been impressed, if it were not one more piece of evidence that pointed towards the horse being a product of Hell! It saw him, and slid towards him, apparently unable to stop and intent on taking Derek down and butt him off the ledge as well. Derek tried to dodge, but was too slow. The beast collided with him, and Derek grimaced as he felt the ground slip from under his feet, the abyss call him, his stomach lurch as he fell, and... Something wrap around him? His fall ended abruptly as the lasso Stiles had made with his hair tightened, catching Derek by one leg. Stiles screeched in pain and started yelling.

"Oh my God Derek, hold onto something, I'm slipping, fuck, fuck, shit!"

Derek reached out to the wall and grasped at a wooden beam that reinforced the dam. He hoisted himself up to sit on it, relieving the pull on Stiles' hair, and called.

"Jump down! I'll catch you!"

"WHAT!?"

Stiles was cornered against the ledge, and refused to surrender to the royal guard. Some of them had tried to subdue him, but that close to the precipice, it wasn't safe for anyone, especially as Stiles kept swinging the bat with all his might. The only way out was down, but still, Derek was clearly out of his mind.

"Just jump! If I don't catch you, I've got your hair!"

"Are you crazy, that fucking hurts!" yelled Stiles.

He swung at a guard that had gotten too close, and took a step back—

Oh fuck.

"FUCK!"

Stiles toppled backwards, scrabbling at his hair, hoping against all hope that it would NOT get ripped out of his scalp, or break, and that Derek was still holding it, _please_ make it so Derek was still holding it, god...

Derek saw Stiles fall back and braced himself for the catch. Stiles fell into his arms with a pained "oof," and the wooden beam creaked dangerously, but it did not break.

"Oh man, dude, thank god you caught me."

"You're welcome. Let's go."

"Where? And how? We're kinda stuck here dude."

"We're going to climb down."

Stiles looked down, and his eyes widened.

"Oh God that's high."

"Yes. Don't look," snapped Derek. "We're gonna use your hair as a rope. That all right? I'll try to make it painless."

"Jeez, thanks for your consideration! Just don't rip it out okay?"

Derek wanted to roll his eyes, but time was short, and the banter wouldn't help.

"Fine. Hold on."

He took hold of Stiles' hair. It was fine. It was just like a rope, if ropes had a tendency to separate and tangle randomly. Derek gulped. Here went nothing.

\-----

Allison had an arrow ready, and could bust Derek Hale's kneecap at any moment. But he would fall to his death, and the long haired person he was working with would too. That person was not someone she'd ever seen before, and was probably innocent. She couldn't kill an innocent. Not another. Not to mention that she felt horrible for shooting at Derek Hale after participating in the death of his whole family. She just couldn't shoot. Even as Malia whinnied impatiently in her ear, Allison could not shoot. So she watched with the others, gaping as the two runaways used the hair as a rope and danced in the air, swinging from one place to another, helping each other beautifully, totally synchronized. Allison lowered her weapon as they got out of range, and shrugged at her horse-friend's annoyed huff.

"We'll get them next time," she said, patting Malia's flank. "They're headed towards Beacon Hills anyway. We'll get the crown back. Come on, let's start heading back."

Malia shook Allison's hand off and neighed at her, visibly annoyed. Allison lifted her hands defensively and turned to their captain.

"Cap, what do you say?"

Bobby Finstock turned to her, his face distorted by disbelief. He reached up to his chin and forced his own mouth closed.

"We're going to trap them, that's what. Malia, you, Greenberg and Matt go down there by the paths. Try not to kill yourselves. The rest of us will go back to Beacon Hills and try to get in front of them for an ambush. Let's go!"

\----

Derek and Stiles finally hit the ground and started running. The way down had been terrifying, but they had done it. They just needed to sprint and get out of the canyon. Derek wound some of Stiles' hair around his arm and pointed to a crack in the rock. Through another tunnel there, and they'd be out. Stiles picked up the rest of his hair and they started running.

They were going to make it, they were almost there.

A loud crack sounded, echoing through the canyon. Derek glanced back, and his heart jumped to his throat. The dam was falling apart.

\-----

Ethan and Aiden shared a high-five. They were in security at the highest point of the canyon, and watched as the water flowed from the collapsing dam. It was a huge wave. Ethan nodded at his brother. It was a good idea to sabotage the dam, drowning most of the royal guard and Derek Hale in one day's work. Deucalion would be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> The next chapter might take more than a week to be done, my exams are starting soon :'(  
> I'll do my best.


	6. of Water. Lots of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dam broke and everyone is in deep trouble.

The sound of rushing water behind you when you were down at the bottom of a canyon was the most terrifying sound Stiles had ever heard. When he saw Derek's look of terror, and realized the dam was down, he knew they were doomed unless they found cover. Either the water would crush them, or the rocks destroyed by the water would crush them. There weren't many ways out. They had to get to the tunnel Derek had mentioned while climbing down, and pray that the water wouldn't kill them with the sheer force of the wave...

The deafening sound of water falling and the ripping sound of rocks crumbling filled Stiles' ears. He grabbed Derek's arm and shoved him against a pillar-like rock, just in time, as the water came crashing around them, carrying mud and trees and tools and rocks. Derek clutched at the stone and Stiles clutched at Derek. It seemed to go on and on and on, but at least the flow was calming down sightly, when suddenly a huge chunk of cliff separated from the wall right above them. Stiles buried his face against Derek, and put one hand on Scott. Goodbye world. This was it. 

Except it wasn't.

The rock collapsed all right, all around them, enclosing them in a claustrophobic wet nightmare, in a very very bad way, but at least they weren't dead. Yet. The water was rising rapidly in the enclosed space, and they were going to drown instead. Great, super.

"Derek! Are you okay? What can we do?!"

The man coughed next to him, and was wheezing.

"Stiles, Stiles we have to get out, to find a way out!"

"How?! I can't see shit!"

Derek took a huge gulp of air and dived.

"Where are you going?!" shrieked Stiles, terrified of being left to die. But Derek emerged a few seconds later, gasping.

"I'm looking for an exit you idiot! Help me!"

Stiles shook himself and started hitting at the rock with his bat, trying to dislodge chunks and free them, but it was no use. Derek dived again, and again, and when he emerged Stiles grabbed at him.

"Derek! Derek, stop it, it's no use, it's too dark."

"I know! But I have to save you!"

"It's too late! It's too late, let's just..." Stiles lay a hand on Scott and took a deep breath. "Talk, let's talk, who cares anymore, you can tell me now. What's your dream?"

"Oh, so you care about that?" Derek asked, shaky voice giving a brave attempt at sarcasm, trying to shake off the desperate grip Stiles had on his shoulder.

"Yeah, sure, why not, like that I'll know what I'm robbing from you by getting you killed," answered Stiles, voice strained, hold tightening.

Derek swallowed, then sighed, defeated. He leaned into Stiles.

"Not much. I'd like my family not to be dead, but hey, that's hardly a realizable dream."

"Shit."

Stiles closed his eyes and lay his head on Derek.

"Still sorry for killing you," he mumbled, spitting out some of his hair.

"It's not completely your fault."

His hair.

Fuck he was such a goddamn idiot.

And the water was nearly covering their heads.

"Shit Derek, my hair glows, when I sing, maybe with light we can..."

"What?"

Stiles inhaled.

"Flower gleam and glow,  
Oh this fucking better work,  
Let your powers shine,  
Come on flower!  
Heal what has be —"

A last desperate gulp of air and the water touched the top of their little cave. Stiles closed his eyes, mentally singing as loud as he could. He knew the powers were mostly linked to will, the song was just to focus them, and he willed as hard as he could for his hair to light up and glow.

\-----

Derek almost lost all his air in a swear when Stiles' hair started emitting light. He got a grip quickly enough – the imminent burn in his lungs was a good motivator – and he looked around to find a flaw in the rock, or something, anything...

The glowing hair was pulled by a current. There was a cluster of rubble they could maybe move around. Derek didn't stop to think, he propelled himself there and started digging with his bare hands with no regard whatsoever for his nails or flesh. Stiles joined him and started moving rocks as well, but the light of his hair started fading. Derek moved faster, pushed harder, and suddenly, something gave. The whole side of their prison came crashing down and they were vomited out with a ton of water and rubble into the harsh current of the renewed river.

\-----

Matt was not good with water.  
Matt was wearing armor.  
Matt was very unhappy about his situation, and that was an understatement. He didn't know how he wasn't dead yet, it was probably thanks to Malia, definitely not thanks to Greenberg. Both human guards had clung to the horse when they'd seen the dam crack. All three were shoved and slammed every which way by the rushing water. Matt couldn't hear or see anything, and he couldn't breathe, and suddenly, his fingers slipped. He tried to yell "NO!" but choked on water instead. He was dead, he was good as dead. The man flailed wildly, hearing his late father's voice yelling at him to stroke, but even if he'd known how to swim, his armor was dragging him down.

He was suddenly flung out of the water, and slammed against a tree, coughing his lungs out, spitting and gagging.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

Matt got on his knees and reached for his sword – he was distrustful by nature – but gripped thin air. The water had disarmed him.

"A little guard!" Continued the voice. "How precious."

He felt a violent pain at his side, at the juncture of his armor, and knew he'd just been kicked. Matt coiled up and lifted his head.

There were two people. A woman, tall and strong, who smiled devilishly at him. It took him a few seconds to realize she had sharpened her teeth into fangs. Behind her was a man, wearing a blindfold and holding a long white cane.

Matt instantly knew who it was. His description was repeated over and over, many attempted portraits were made, but all of that paled in comparison to the real thing.

"Deucalion," he spat.

Deucalion smiled, and the woman kicked Matt again.

"Where's Derek Hale, guard?"

Matt tried to stand up.

"Derek Hale is a wanted prisoner, and is, as such, considered property of the kingdom. We'll get him before you do, bitch!"

The woman kicked him right in the face, and Matt staggered backwards with a pained howl. She gripped his hair and wrenched his head backwards, pressing a blade against his throat.

"Don't tempt me, I might kill you for fun," she whispered in his ear. "Where's Derek, _bitch_?"

Matt gulped. Put like that...

"Derek and his accomplice are heading towards Beacon Hills, but they were caught in the current, like me, so they're probably dead."

"An accomplice?" asked Deucalion. "Who was it?"

"I don't know, some really long-haired girl I think. Or young man. It was weird."

Deucalion inhaled sharply, and a wide smile spread across his face.

"Ah, a long-haired child, indeed," he mused. "My dear Nogitsune, the mouse escaped your clawed shadows..."

He laughed, a laugh that chilled Matt right to the bones.

"We best make our way to Beacon Hills, my dear Kali," he told the woman. "Our prize is waiting."

"The crown?"

"Better that that."

"And what should I do with him?" she said, yanking Matt's head higher.

Deucalion faced Matt right on, as if he could see him, and slowly walked forward. He put a hand on Matt's face.

"What's your name?"

"Matt Daehler."

"Matt. Hmm."

Deucalion frowned.

"You are a vicious one, aren't you? You kill whenever possible, invent pretexts to execute outlaws yourself, and you have raped women. Your ruthlessness could be channeled, and your inside knowledge of the royal guard useful... Join us, and you will live."

Matt struggled in Kali's grip, but the blade pressed harder against his neck.

Deucalion was dangerous and hateful, but Matt didn't want to die. To accept would be treachery, but to refuse would be the End.

Matt accepted.

\-----

The Nogitsune was caught in a water-filled part of the mine. The river had stopped rising, but he was still stuck and lost in a labyrinth of tunnels that would only delve deeper into the rock if he followed them. He hated to use magic for something that would take longer than a couple of minutes, but he had to leave his physical form to get out of that one. The man faded and became wisps of darkness, slinked into the water, extended its tendrils and let itself be led outside. It emerged and became a man's body once more, deformed and old, but not yet rotting. No, not yet. And he still had his cotton wrappings if he needed them.  
Father Nogitsune let the aches of his body manifest themselves, let his body yearn, yearn for the stars, yearn for the flower, yearn for the boy.

He knew in which direction to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I made it!  
> Thank you for reading! :)


	7. of Stories and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping death together, Derek and Stiles get to know each other a bit.

After an uncomfortable and wet trip, Stiles and Derek managed to get onto dry land.  
Well, Derek managed to get them onto dry land. He hadn't let go of Stiles since they were freed from the death-by-drowning situation, and he was able to haul him close to shore when he latched onto a thick cluster of roots.

They clawed and crawled and got out of the current.

“We’re alive!” Stiles exclaimed between coughs as Derek simultaneously gasped, with his first gulp of air, “The hair glows?!?”

Stiles climbed out, started wringing his... his MAGIC hair, and mumbled something about “fucking priorities dude."

"The hair glows?" the man asked Scott, and received a shrug and a squeak in return. Derek shook himself and stood up, feeling somewhat faint. Magic wasn't supposed to exist like this, magic was for witches and their curses, and all that. Not... Glowy hair!

Stiles' stomach rumbled loudly.

"God, we never even ate, it's like what, ten? All our food is wet."

"I can make a fire. But you have to explain."

Stiles sighed. 

"Fine. I'll tell you mine and you'll tell me yours. Secrets, I mean. But first let's get the fire going, I'm wet and cold."

They gathered some dry wood and Derek lit it up with his flint. Stiles very carefully coiled his now completely disgusting hair around the fire, to try and make it dry faster, before sitting on a log and digging out a couple of wet sandwiches he'd packed before departure. Derek took one.

"Thanks."

He sat next to Stiles.

"So. Magic hair."

Stiles sighed. 

"Yeah. That's why father keeps me locked up. He says people would hurt me if they knew what my hair can do."

Derek lifted his eyebrows.

"What, glow?"

"Not just glow. Look, I can show you, but you have to swear not to take advantage of me or try to steal my hair. It stops working when it's cut anyway, so like, you'd have to kidnap me, which would be such a pain in your ass, I'd never stop talking and make your life an auditive hell, and if you think that's not true I can just demonstrate that—"

Derek's hand closed gently around one of Stiles' flailing ones.

"Stiles. I won't steal your hair. I won't hurt you. I promise."

Stiles met Derek's serious gaze and nodded, feeling his cheeks grow warm. The young man cleared his throat, and chose a strand of hair that didn't seem too mucky.

"Don't move, okay?" he prompted.

Derek nodded, and Stiles reached around Derek's head. Derek froze at how close their faces suddenly were, as Stiles quickly got the hair to wrap around Derek's neck. He then wrapped another strand around Derek's scraped and bruised hands. The man frowned.

"What—"

"Shush. You'll see. Just wait."

Derek closed his mouth and waited, skeptical. Erica's claw marks were still stinging, and the dirty water had maybe infected them, and his hands were in a pretty rough shape to put it mildly. Stiles' hair was filthy, and would probably not help, but Derek stayed still anyway, waiting under Stiles' touch. The young man closed his eyes, breathed in, and sang.

"Flower gleam and glow,  
Let your powers shine..."

His warm voice enveloped them and his hair started glowing once more, light coming from the roots and flowing down the length, circling around their campfire, outshining it, twining through twigs and leaves, wrapping around Derek's neck and hands... It tingled a bit, and felt warm, which was strange since Stiles' hair was still wet.

"...Heal what has been hurt,  
Change the fate's design..."

Derek shivered and Stiles opened his eyes, looking straight at him as he finished the song.

"...Save what has been lost,  
Bring back what once was mine,  
What once was mine."

Then, slowly, as if not to spook him, Stiles slid his hair away from Derek. The man lifted his hands and looked at them. Healed. He then ran his fingers on the sides of his neck. His skin was smooth. The wounds were gone. Derek was breathless.

"How...?"

"Magic, duh."

Derek was too shocked to roll his eyes.

"But how is your hair magic? I thought magic had to be taught."

"Oh. Well, father Nogitsune said a drop fell from the stars to the earth a very long time ago, and that a flower grew from that seed-slash-drop-slash-star thing. But not just any old cosmic flower..."

Stiles paused dramatically, lifting his hands up and shaking them around for effect.

"A magic flower that could heal, and would glow like the stars!"

He dropped his hands, and his face turned somber.

"Father said my mother was very sick when she was pregnant, and that he gave her the plant in a brew to try and cure her."

He winced and shrugged.

"It didn't work, and she died in childbirth, or right after. I think father blames me for that. Somewhat. Even though there's no way a newborn could've influenced his own birth."

Stiles sighed.

"Anyway, father doesn't ever speak about her, I just know he loved her. But hey, at least I survived, and I got the magic flower's powers..."

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"...which will attract bad people who will want to take advantage of me and therefore I should be locked up for ever and ever in a small boring tower so I don't die like my mother. So yeah, here's your explanation."

He shrugged and tugged at a strand of hair.

Derek shook himself out of his shock about magic star healing hair, and frowned.

"So your father locks you up because your mother...?"

"I mean, supposedly. Like I said, he never mentions that, even when he's rattling off tons of reasons why I shouldn't go outside. Maybe he's just protective because of my powers and the evilness of mankind."

Scott jumped out at that, signing sternly at Stiles, who rolled his eyes.

"Fine, he's _over_ -protective and controlling. Happy?"

Scott seemed satisfied by the precision and disappeared once again into the young man's clothing.

Stiles sighed and turned his amber eyes towards Derek.

"So what about you? No hidden abilities? Secret identity?" he smirked.

Derek shook his head.

"Just a robber."

"Yeah, how did that happen? How does one choose to work against the law? Doesn't it make you life more difficult?"

"Someone set fire to my house when I was sixteen."

Stiles blinked.

"Oh."

"Everyone died except for me, my uncle, and my older sister. We went into hiding, and became outlaws. My sister and uncle wanted to track down the arsonist, by meddling with her crowd. I just..."

Derek paused and swallowed.

"I just didn't know what to do. So I followed. Climbing up things calmed me down and emptied my head, so I became really good at that, and at sneaking around to avoid having to talk to people."

Stiles seemed surprised, and interrupted.

"You don't like talking to people? Man, I've gone half-mad from having no one to talk to! And I'm not exaggerating!"

Derek shrugged.

"I guess I couldn't stand people when all the people that really mattered to me were gone."

Stiles looked ashamed.

"That's true. Sorry. Keep going."

"It's okay. Uh. Basically I developed the perfect skills to break into houses and steal things. So I did that. And then, two years ago, my sister and uncle found the arsonist. Kate Argent. There was a fight, both my sister and that bitch died. I went away and worked jobs far from here, and then I came back, stole a crown, found you, and, uh, here we are."

"Right. ..... I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For your family."

"Oh. Yeah... Well, sorry for your mother."

"It's okay, I mean, I never knew her, so..."

Silence fell around them. Stiles broke it after a few seconds.

"Thanks for telling me."

Derek nodded.

"Thank you for listening. And trusting me about your hair."

"Anytime man, I mean, we did save each other's lives."

Derek smiled softly.

They both took a bite out of their forgotten and now slightly less damp sandwiches, and started chewing.

"So where did you go when you went away? Did you travel?" asked Stiles after a while.

Derek swallowed his mouthful and nodded.

"Yes. I went south, everything is warmer over there. The trees are different too, and I swam in the sea."

"Ooh, I read about that! Is it really salty?"

"Yes. It stung my eyes," huffed Derek.

Stiles started laughing.

"Well don't pout about it! At least you got to see it! How blue is it?"

"It shifts. Sometimes it's blue like the sky, sometimes even brighter, sometimes it's dark, or grey, or even green."

"A bit like your eyes then."

Derek was taken aback and blinked at Stiles, who was resolutely staring at the campfire.

"I guess so. But when you're in it, it's transparent. It's really clean, because there's no mud, there's sand instead. You can see all the fish, until your eyes can't stand the sting anymore."

"That's so cool. You know, that killer rush of muddy water is the most water I've seen in my life. There's a pump in the tower that's linked to an underground well, and we also have a tank on the roof to collect rain water. They're both pretty clean and mostly colorless. Definitely no fish."

Derek shrugged.

"That's what you want from drinking water."

"Yeah. But just _drinking_ water is boring. I tried to make a kind of ice rink once, during the winter, I opened all the windows and part of the roof, put on some warm clothes, and started pumping for all I was worth, letting the water spill on the floor. Man was father angry when he came home, and for reason! The whole lower ground was flooded with half frozen water, I'd caught a cold, and a lot of the furniture was ruined. It took weeks to clean up completely."

Stiles cringed and chuckled at the memory, and Derek smiled.

"My sisters and I also used to get in trouble when we were kids. The worst time was probably the prank war we'd started when Cora was eight. I was eleven and Laura thirteen, it was not pretty. They shaved my entire head, eyebrows included!"

Stiles guffawed.

"Your eyebrows!? Oh man, that is priceless. Were they as bushy as they are now?"

"Pretty much, yeah. To retaliate, I put glue in Laura's shampoo, but she was careful and noticed the smell. When she taunted me, I was so mad I emptied her closets all over her room after she'd tidied up, even broke some of her stuff, and hid Cora's favorite plush-toy for days, refusing to admit I knew where it was. It ended in a fist-fight, but our parents put an end to it quite swiftly after that. The next sibling to ever prank another would be grounded until they were twenty-one."

"Grounded?"

Derek's eyes snapped up to Stiles. The young man looked confused. Right. Shit.

"Uh. It's a punishment."

"Yeah but what does it entail? I've never been grounded."

Derek cringed.

"Well technically... Uh, it means you aren't allowed to leave the house unless it's for work or school."

"Oh."

An awkward silence followed, as Stiles processed.

"Yeah, it figures he can't ground me, that's my permanent state."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"No it's okay. It's interesting to see how, uh, normal people are raised."

"You're not abnormal!"

"Suuuure. I'm as fucked up as Isaac. That thing he said, fathers who lock you up and beat you up? That sounds pretty familiar."

"He beats you?"

"Well he can't very well ground me now, can he?"

"That's not a reason! There is no good reason to hit a child! Why would... Just why?"

"Uhm. Any reason, really. He pulls my hair or slaps me too, but, uh. The first time he... beat me, like, more seriously, with his belt... He said it was the only way that boys like me – intelligent and proud – could be disciplined. I was only thirteen years old. I believed what he told me."

Derek took this in, silently horrified at what Stiles was telling him. He reached over, in a hesitant gesture of comfort, and laid his hand on Stiles' hunched shoulders. The young man stiffened for a second, then relaxed. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

"I probably deserved it anyway. I'm such a spazz."

"No."

Stiles looked up between his hair, the dark strands framing his pale face.

"No one deserves that. He was wrong. Intelligence and pride should be rewarded, not punished."

Scott suddenly jumped up from Stiles' pocket and nodded vigorously, pointing at Derek and jumping up and down. Stiles let out a small smile and stroked the chameleon's head softly with a finger.

"Oh, so what Scott? You proud? Big bad Derek agrees with you?" he said, trying to disguise the distress in his voice.

Scott scurried up to Stiles' neck and nuzzled him. Derek's hand stayed on Stiles' back, a comforting weight.

\-----

**Why Stiles "deserved it"**

_Slap!_

"Concentrate now, and listen to me."

Father Nogitsune was the one who taught Stiles how to speak, use the toilet, read, write, count, some History, some mathematics, some anatomy, biology... Everything, basically. And it was not an easy task to educate a child, especially not one as frustrating as Stiles. The boy had difficulties concentrating, staying still, paying attention, and father Nogitsune had a notoriously short temper.

It always started with shifting around, Stiles legs twitching under the table, his body positively vibrating. Then the boy would bite his nails, look away, squirm some more, start tapping rhythms, and father Nogitsune knew for certain that the child was not listening anymore.

"Stiles!"

"Hm? What?"

"I am talking to you! Stop playing around and listen, or you'll be punished."

"I'm sorry father. But it's hard!"

"Yes, that's why you need to concentrate!"

Forcing the boy to learn was a fight. Not a fight against Stiles, it was usually quite clear the child _wanted_ to learn, but a fight against his temperament. He had to be tamed, to be punished and forced to concentrate, or he'd let his mind wander out of this world and somewhere unattainable. His lack of focus annoyed the Nogitsune to all ends. A couple of swats here and there kept the boy in place when he was a child. But when he became a teenager, his willfulness and talking-back habits increased.

"Stiles! I can tell you are not listening, you know."

"Sure father, whatever."

"Stop that this instant! Stay still and _concentrate_ for heaven's sake! Or you know what you'll get..."

"But the words don't make sense! This book is stupid!"

The teenager was too prideful, too stubborn... And the Nogitsune could not stand being defied and disobeyed so willfully. That had pushed him to beat the boy a couple of times. He should've concentrated. He deserved the punishment. He _needed_ it. 

\-----

**Why Stiles did not**

Father was talking about the different virtues of plants, and Stiles was paying solid attention to the lesson. This information was great, heal with plants, hurt with plants, kill with plants... He made sure to get it down into his head, leaning in closer to what leaves and herbs father had laid on the table. Suddenly, he couldn't understand a single word father was saying. He shook his head and tried harder, this happened too often, but he still didn't understand anything. He could hear the words coming out of father's mouth, but it was not processing. Stiles could not process them. The lesson dragged on, as Stiles grew tense, worried about not knowing what to do.

"Stiles, what did I just say?"

Finally, the words made sense! Father pushed Stiles' leg down, as it was shaking the table with how hard it was vibrating. Stiles hadn't even noticed that. He stilled.

"Uh, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Are you not listening to me? Again?! Are you so intent on wasting my time!?"

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"No, father, I told you, it happens, you just stop making sense..."

Father Nogitsune stiffened, and his grip on Stiles' leg tightened.

"I don't make sense? Are you mocking me? I believe you have reasonably mastered the English language, enough to understand me speaking about _plants_!"

Stiles sighed annoyedly.

"I'm sorry," he said, shrugging.

Here went father on another rant. Stiles blocked them out. He knew there was a problem with him. He knew it wasn't stupidity, and that it wasn't on purpose. He just didn't know what to do about it.

"That isn't good enough, and didn't sound very sincere! I can excuse this attitude with difficult things like calculus, but this!? If you wanted to listen you would have!"

Stiles grimaced, holding back his protests, and huffed. 

"Whatever. You don't listen either when I tell you it's not my fault, so..."

Father's eyes bulged.

"I've had enough of this attitude, boy! I will have to break you from this disgusting habit! Being a petulant teenager does not suit you, and I will not tolerate it any longer!"

"What? I'm not being petulant!"

"Stop arguing! It's time you realize how disrespectful it is to ignore someone who's speaking to you, and if you won't respect me, I'll have to make you respect something else! I'll give you a healthy respect for leather!"

Father Nogitsune dragged Stiles out of his chair, ignoring the boy's indignant squawk and following protests, and pushed him roughly over the table. Pressing on the small of his back to keep him put, the Nogitsune unbuckled his belt one handed.

\-----

**Why to beat a child?**

_he deserved the punishment  
he needed it_  
~ the Nogitsune, "Stilespunzel: the Tale"

 _spare the rod and spoil the child_  
~ Samuel Butler, “Hudibras”

 _a boy's ears are on his back, and he hears when he is beaten_  
~ Amenemope

 _if your buttocks burn, you know you have done wrong_  
~ South African Proverb

...

**No.**

...

 _When a man beats his boy, he wants a son who won't buck him. He's trying to make a coward. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it works.  
And the hundredth boy?  
We can go either way. Kill the old man, or try to become a better one._  
~ Mary Doria Russell, "Epitaph"

\------

**Scott's vow**

Scott was weary of Stiles' father ever since he'd heard his voice and threats to punish Stiles. As a human, he had been taught to distrust everyone in whom the impulse to punish was powerful. He quickly grew to hate the man like he'd hated no one else before. Scott was a pretty loving guy, but with father Nogitsune... Something was just not right. 

The first time father Nogitsune beat Stiles, Scott nearly tried to attack him. But he knew he'd get stepped on and die. So he controlled himself, watching on with bile rising to his throat as his best friend was hit repeatedly with a belt, as his best friend started crying, as his best friend sagged down, beaten, and as the man picked him up afterwards, consoled him and convinced him he deserved it, mixed comfort with manipulation, giving both reassurance and feelings of guilt.

That day, Scott discovered a chameleon could vomit.  
That day, Scott knew he'd kill his best friend's father if the occasion ever presented itself.  
That day, Scott nuzzled Stiles' face as the boy cried himself to sleep, not believing that the beating was excessive, not realizing that it was unfair and inhumane. Not realizing he deserved better.  
That day was ingrained in Scott's mind forever. He would not forget, and he would not forgive. He owed that much to Stiles.

\------

**A solution of some sort**

Eventually, Stiles discovered which plants he could brew and take to lessen his constant need to move and his fluctuating concentration. He found various tips in different books, and a seemingly promising recipe in an old medicine book, translated from Chinese. He asked father to bring him Ginkgo seeds, oat, and if he found some, seeds of the French maritime pine tree, under the pretext of wanting to experiment the resistivity of different plants. Father didn't question it, and brought back both oats and Ginkgo seeds the next week, and the pine cones two months later.  
Stiles started growing them on the roof, in a makeshift suspended garden where father already grew tomatoes, carrots, potatoes and apples. The recipe and tips asked for green oats, Ginkgo leaves, and bark from the pine tree. The last one was the hardest to grow as it was not in its preferred climate, and it actually had to become a _tree_ before Stiles could harvest it.  
The first thing available to him were the green oats he was supposed to grind and eat. Every day, three times a day. His crop wasn't big enough to last very long, but it would be a test. He would read something and try to learn it over the next few weeks, and he'd see whether he got lost in his head with the words dancing before his face, if he suddenly felt the need to climb up the walls of the tower, or whether the plant actually helped.

The oats helped a bit. Not massively, but his concentration was better. Then there were no more oats... But the plants kept growing.

After about a year of trial and error, Stiles had a system in place and knew what to take and how to make it so his mind would not be so shambled. It was a relief to be able to sit for a full hour without having to yell or sing or run around the tower. There was a negative side-effect as well, though. Stiles sometimes felt a bit down for no reason. The plants were not magical after all, they had odd impacts when working inside a living body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, I'm procrastinating studying for my exams, lol. But that means chapters! Yay!  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading! :)


	8. of Nightmares and Truces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek keep going towards Beacons Hills.  
> Father Nogitsune has plans.

Derek, Stiles and Scott continued their trip towards Beacon Hills. The next few days of traveling were way calmer, to Derek's great relief. When he expressed this, Stiles asked:

"So that first day wasn't normal?"

"No, really not," scoffed Derek. "This part of the country is pretty peaceful, I've rarely seen something as violent yesterday. I'm impressed you didn't run back to your tower after witnessing such madness."

"Oh, that's pretty much what I was expecting anyway. Father always described the outside world as if it were a constant death trap, with killers running around everywhere, sick people rubbing themselves all over you to get you to catch the plague, women and children getting raped at every corner, people constantly fighting and trying to hurt each other. Yesterday was almost tame compared to that. At least people work in groups, and have _some_ compassion."

"I guess," shrugged Derek. "It is usually much better if you're part of a group."

"And I had to fall on the one robber everyone is after, lucky me!" snorted Stiles.

Derek frowned at him.

"I _did_ warn you."

Stiles smiled.

"Yeah, you did. But I'm glad I didn't listen."

Derek's face softened a bit. Yes. He was glad too.

\-----

The Nogitsune was slowly but surely getting closer to his runaway boy. Stiles had a head-start, but the Nogitsune didn't need as much rest as regular humans did. He caught up with them on the second day after the mine debacle, and walked up to the child as he was sleeping. After making sure the Hale son would stay asleep, he kneeled next to Stiles and whispered in his ear.

"You're in big trouble, boy, bigger than you know..."

Stiles stirred and frowned in his sleep, shivering slightly.

"Father?" he muttered.

"I have tried to save you, I told you the world is dangerous. You followed Derek Hale anyway. Don't you see it's a trick? Are you so foolish as to believe that man, a ruffian, a robber, could be helping you? He works for Deucalion!"

The Nogitsune touched Stiles' face and shared the tendril of dread he still felt when he uttered the name. Stiles whined and shivered harder, kicking out at nothing.

"Deucalion is dangerous, he would do anything to get hold of you. Derek Hale is only humoring you so he can get you to his master!"

"No... No, Derek is nice, I like him," answered Stiles out loud.

The Nogitsune was impressed. For Stiles to say that in his sleep meant his feelings for and trust in the Hale scum were already stronger than what he'd anticipated. Time to turn it up a notch.

"He will betray you," he hissed. "And use you. You cannot trust him, you can only trust me! 

"No, he likes me too, he saved m'life..."

This was worrying. Asleep, Stiles was usually way more compliant and vulnerable to what the Nogitsune said.

"You think you know best? He endangered you, and he will betray you. You will see, you'll come running back to father! I won't say 'I told you so'! If you think you know best then fine, abandon me, go and get your heart and soul broken by a stranger. I've warned you. And I'll be waiting."

With that, father Nogitsune sent a wave of desperation towards the boy, giving Stiles something to occupy himself with during the night, and left. Now came the hard part. He had to stage Derek Hale's betrayal and had to double-cross Deucalion.

\-----

As soon as father Nogitsune left, Scott started trying to wake Stiles up. He slapped his tail against his friend's face, he put his slimy tongue in his ear, nose, neck, he bit his fingers, but Stiles was too caught up in his nightmare, twisting and turning, shaking and muttering sounds of distress, and it was escalating, Stiles was fighting the dream more and more, getting close to tears and pleading out loud, and Scott couldn't take it. He did the only other thing he could thing of, he jumped on Derek's face and bit his nose.

Derek startled and whipped a hand up to his face, catching Scott's tail.

"Whu– Scott?" he asked, opening bleary eyes. 

Scott garbled a couple of distressed squeaks and pointed insistently towards Stiles, hoping Derek could do something, wake him up, _do something_! Derek's eyes widened and he immediately rushed towards Stiles, took the young man by the shoulders, and spoke soothingly.

"Hey hey hey, Stiles, it's okay, everything is okay, you're safe, Scott's safe, I'm safe, we're here with you. You just need to wake up okay? Come on, come back to us, it's gonna be all right..."

"No... D'rek... Stop don't... Please no.. Hhhn... Why, why, no! Please!"

Derek frowned and held Stiles tighter.

"Hey, okay, I'm stopping, see? I'm not doing anything, and everyone is okay. You can wake up. Wake up!"

Stiles inhaled sharply as he opened his eyes, and let out a pitiful yelp when he saw Derek, trying to get away from him.

Derek let him go, and Scott jumped on his chest, purring sounds of soothing and reassurance. Stiles let his head fall back and his heartbeat started decreasing slowly.

"Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry, nightmare."

Derek stayed kneeling next to Stiles while Scott rumbled softly.

"It's okay. You're safe, it was just a dream."

Stiles pressed his fingers into his eyes, scrunching up his face and chasing away the tears that had gathered there.

"Want to talk about it?" offered Derek after a long, awkward pause.

Stiles gave a shivery sigh.

"Sure, whatever, get it out of my system. You were bringing me to see the lights and I was going to finally know what they were, and then suddenly you put a sack on my head. I was choking and begging you to leave me alone, but you laughed, said I was worthless and you only wanted my hair, that you were gonna sell me to Deucalion, and then you pushed me and I was falling in the dark. Like endlessly. Then you woke me up."

"God."

Derek looked horrified.

"Stiles I'm so sorry."

"Hey, not your fault my sick subconscious decided to make me see the worst case scenario."

Scott started squeaking distressedly, trying to catch Stiles' attention and tell him about father Nogitsune. The second Stiles lay his eyes on him, Scott frantically signed what he'd seen. Stiles paled.

"Father was here? What? No no no no no god please no, I thought that was a dream too! He knows, he'll kill me, I'm dead, oh no..."

And Stiles started hyperventilating, getting hold of a handful of hair in each fist and yanking hard.

"Hey, stop that," murmured Derek, laying his hands on Stiles'. "You'll hurt yourself."

"You don't understand, father was _here_! He might _still_ be here, watching from the shadows! I don't understand why he didn't just wake me up and drag me to the tower, but either way, it changes nothing! He knows I disobeyed! He knows I directly defied him... He's gonna kill me!"

Scott squeaked that it probably was just a warning, and that father Nogitsune seemed inclined to let Stiles explore the outside world a bit.

"But that makes no sense," answered Stiles. "After everything he's done to keep me locked up, why would he let me..."

Scott cut him off and transmitted that father Nogitsune seemed persuaded that Stiles would get hurt and go running back to daddy. Stiles' face turned skeptical.

"Yeah, he did say that. But even if I got hurt, why would I agree to be locked up again now that he's basically let me out?"

Scott's face turned somber (or it would have, if he'd had more facial muscles). _If you get hurt badly enough, you might,_ he signed. _Especially if it's Derek's fault._

Stiles scoffed and looked up at the robber, who was still hovering silently, a concerned expression on his face.

"That won't happen, will it?" muttered Stiles, glancing back at Scott. "He said that, but he doesn't know him."

Scott shrugged. _We don't really know him either_ , he answered.  
Stiles frowned, and nodded curtly. He'd be careful. That was all Scott could ask for.

"I didn't get all that," Derek said softly after a few seconds, "but I can promise that as long as you stay with me I'll try to protect you, even if it's from your own father."

Stiles glanced up and let out a long sigh.

"Thanks Derek."

Derek nodded, and lay back down where he was, marginally closer to Stiles than when they'd first gone to sleep. Scott gave him a suspicious look before coiling up on Stiles once more, accepting that Derek was more successful at waking Stiles up than he'd ever been, and that his proximity could only be a plus in case of another nightmare.

\-----

Derek woke up with Stiles in his arms, and dirty hair in his face. The briskness of night time and the unease of nightmares must have made them seek out human heat. He extracted himself slowly from the tangle of limbs, trying not to pull Stiles' hair, and got up to start on breakfast. Scott gave him a sly look, at which Derek muttered "shut up," before leaving the camp site to relieve himself in the woods.

\-----

The third day, two days before Stiles' birthday, they were walking along the river, making good progress in their journey. Stiles had been yapping Derek's ear off all morning, his fear that his father was following him pushed away at the back of his mind, and Derek hadn't told him to shut up. Not even once. The man just glanced at him and gave his small smiles, and asked the right questions to keep the conversation/monologue going. As such, they were both pretty alarmed when they heard galloping, and when a horse from the royal guard emerged in front of them and tried to headbutt Derek into the water. Derek dodged and ran, and ended up climbing a tree to avoid the enraged animal.

"Stiles get away from it!" he shouted from his perch, seeing that Stiles was peering curiously at them. "That thing is a demon-horse!"

Stiles tried not to snicker as Derek hugged a branch tighter when the horse tried _jumping_.  
The young man ignored Derek and approached the animal, palms up and his voice soothing.

"Hey, hey hey hey pretty lady, calm down."

"Lady?!" yelped Derek, sounding almost outraged. "More like monstrous beast!"

Stiles kept walking towards the horse, who turned her head to look at him.

"Don't listen to Derry-poo, you're a very beautiful mare. Come on, that's it, get away from the tree..."

The horse huffed but complied, looking suspicious, if that were even possible.

"Now sit..." coaxed Stiles.

The _horse_ now looked outraged, and bucked a bit, but Stiles glared at her and snapped:

"Sit!"

The horse sat with a thump. Stiles smiled widely and started petting her snout.

"Good girl!"

"What the fuck," deadpanned Derek, still up on the tree.

"Shush!" Stiles directed to Derek.

The horse gave the robber a triumphant look before deliberately nuzzling into Stiles' hand. The young man smiled.

"So what's your name?" he asked, squinting to see the horse's name-tag. Who name-tagged a horse? Didn't matter. "Malia, nice, sweet name. Now listen Malia—"

"You're talking to a horse," Derek interrupted rudely.

Malia turned towards him and snapped her teeth. Derek growled in answer. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Yes, and clearly she understands us just as well as Scott does. Malia, I know you want to catch big bad Derek and put him in a cell to atone for his crimes, and you'll be able to do that—"

"Hey!"

"Shut up Derek! You'll be able to do that, but just, not right now."

Malia made to stand up and buck, and Stiles lifted his hands again.

"Hey, hear me out girl, I need him to fulfill my dream."

The horse didn't look convinced. Stiles brought out the pleading puppy-dog eye.

"It's my birthday soon!"

Malia's resolve visibly wavered.

"Please? Let me have Derek?"

Malia huffed and nodded. Stiles have her a dazzling smile and jumped on her to hug her.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! Derek get down of there! Let's move!"

"I won't come down until that thing is gone!"

"Stop calling her a thing! That's very rude!"

"She tried to kill me! Multiple times!"

"And she'll apologize and promise not to do that again. Right Malia?"

The horse tried to growl, but stopped when she caught the look on Stiles' face. She nodded reluctantly.

"Good! Now get down and you two shake on it. Allies for now."

Derek climbed down slowly, a look of distrust on his face, and Malia snarled at him all through it, but they ended up awkwardly shaking hands/hooves. Stiles deemed himself satisfied, and they kept going.

\-----

The only reason Malia sat and listened to the long-haired guy, apart from his eerily familiar scent, was the little chameleon on his head. It was terrifying. It had stared her down, postured like a dominant coyote, and curled its lip back slightly. So of course Malia sat. And of course Malia shook Derek's hand. Not to say she was intimidated! Just curious! Yes, that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'll be able to make it with the next chapter next week, so there might be a one week hiatus here. But meanwhile, you can check out the crappy edits I made of Stiles with long hair xD
> 
>  
> 
> [Here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5847946)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. of Plotting and Tangles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up to this point:  
> -Stiles(punzel) and Derek are traveling towards Beacon Hills so Stiles can see the lights and figure out what they are.  
> -Deucalion is a bad guy, and seems aware of Stiles' regenerative powers.  
> -Father Nogitsune is aware of his son's betrayal, and has given him a warning. He also plans on getting him back at all costs.  
> -Scott is a (terrifying) chameleon  
> -Malia, the horse, agreed on a truce with Derek and is now escorting Derek and Stiles to Beacon Hills, where she plans on arresting Derek as soon as the festival is finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delay, delay, delay! But my exams are done now! Haha! (I passed all of them in case you were wondering)
> 
> I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter (I wanted it to be longer) but I also absolutely wanted to post something today, so here it is. I hope you enjoy! ^^

"Remember: kill Hale, but whatever you do, don't kill the boy."

Deucalion listened for any protests from his best henchmen and fellow homocidal maniacs. There weren't any. He was about to keep explaining his plan to kidnap the magical child, when a voice rasped behind him:

"That seems awfully straightforward and stupid..."

Deucalion tensed immediately and turned around, feeling cool tendrils of dark magic graze his face. He smirked. He knew who this was, and he had the upper hand. Had had it for years.

"Well if it isn't my old _friend_."

He heard his men swiftly regroup around him, pulling out their weapons.

"Now now children, no need to be so jumpy. The little fox knows what will happen if he tries any of his attacks."

"But sir," protested Ennis at his left.

Deucalion turned his head slowly towards the rumbling voice.

"Step back," he enunciated clearly, a threat underlining each of his words.

The shuffle of his men obeying made Deucalion smile.

"If you'll excuse my group's rudeness. Now what can I do for you, Nogitsune?" asked Deucalion, passing his cane to his other hand, grinning in the direction he knew the beast was lurking in the shadows.

"The boy you're trying to capture has grown fond of Derek Hale," the Nogitsune rasped back. "If you kill him, he'll never let you use his powers. Believe me, I know him well. I've raised him from birth after all."

Deucalion considered the shadow weaver's words, and shrugged.

"Fine, we won't kill him then. We can simply capture both of them."

"And let live the hope that they might escape?" hissed the Nogitsune, suddenly way closer to Deucalion's ear than was comfortable. "No. You have to break the boy. You have to make him believe he's been betrayed. Only then will he be yours completely. But for that, you'll need my help."

Deucalion let out a cackling burst of laughter.

"Need _you_!? Please. You've been in hiding for years. You aren't worth anything."

Deucalion turned and started walking away.

"The boy trusts me," called the Nogitsune. "He'll believe anything I say. Why would he believe _you_? A murderer! A kidnapper! A thief!"

"That's rich coming from you," snapped Deucalion, annoyed.

He could almost feel the Nogitsune smile.

"I may be all those things. But he doesn't know it. And I am his father after all..."

Deucalion ground his teeth, and considered. The Nogitsune sounded old, very old. He was probably desperate to get his hands on the magic child. Ready to do anything. Ready to become subservient. But Deucalion knew better than to underestimate his old enemy. Their last dispute had cost him his eyesight. Maybe... Maybe if he played this right... The Nogitsune was too powerful to destroy, but maybe...

"You're not essential, whatever you say. Go die from a heart-attack," he spat out, starting to walk away again.

He felt the tendril of desperation the Nogitsune tried to reel him in with, but snapped away from it before it could affect him.

"What a pityful attempt," he scoffed. "You aren't what you used to be."

He heard the Nogitsune stumble forward and suddenly felt the clammy and cold wrinkly flesh close around his hand.

"Deucalion, please," rasped a voice around his knee level.

The Nogitsune was begging. Deucalion let his hand be led to the other man's face, and felt the grooves, the beginning of rot, the sheer _mortality_ of the creature at his feet. It sent a cold shiver right up his spine, a shiver that had nothing to do with magic.

"If I let you help, what will you do for me in exchange?"

"Anything. I'll join you. I'll wreak havoc and spread fear and sickness in your name. All I want is not to die. Don't let me die. Please."

The Nogitsune was trembling under Deucalion's fingers, and he felt moistness. Was the monster crying?

"I'll take your offer, as pitiful as that display was. I've always wanted a magic weaver on my side again, but they're so slippery and unpredictable... Of course, you know better than to try anything, don't you?"

Last time the two men had faced off, they had nearly completely destroyed each other. Deucalion could also weave magic at the time. Light, more specifically. And fire. He'd lost that ability when the Nogitsune had obscured his eyes forever, while Deucalion was working at melting the monster's physical form.

It was a good thing they'd ended up making a truce. Both of them were already crippled beyond recognition, Deucalion no longer able to see, and having to rely on what he felt of the energy flowing in the world, the Nogitsune no longer able to use magic for more than a handful of minutes before being left at the brink of death, whisps of evil, shells of grandeur. Them both dying was the next step, which would've been a shame. They had so much potential.

Deucalion couldn't wait to see what they could do as allies.

\-----

Deucalion was not an idiot, far from it. But he'd always been too greedy. Manipulating him was tricky, and humiliating, but worth it, very worth it. The Nogitsune had played on the man's power craze, his obsession to spread terror and be known by all. And becoming part of Deucalion's gang was the _easy_ part. The hard part would be to conceal things from him. Deucalion's light shone bright on secrets, lies, shadows, exposing and destroying them, even now, even though he didn't know he was doing it. The secrets would have to be hidden in plain sight. The lies would have to be half-true. As for the shadows...  
Well, the Nogitsune better weave them tightly.

\-----

 

"Who's Deucalion anyway?" asked Stiles, trying to distract Malia and Derek from glaring menacingly at each other. "Like, I get that you hate him," he nodded towards Malia, "and I get that you work for him," he told Derek, "but what did he do that's so bad that the guys in the Snuggly Duckling hate him like that? I mean, they have the same kind of unsavory occupations, sooo..."

Malia and Derek looked at each other, bewildered, before turning to Stiles.

"You've never heard of him?" asked Derek, his question nearly drowned by the cross and disbelieving whinny Malia let out.

"Nope. What's the big deal?"

"Oh, he's only a bloodthirsty mass murderer, thief, kidnapper, and feared gang leader, whose ethics are so horrible even assassins and mercenaries refuse to work with him..."

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek's clipped tone, and Malia seemed confused as well. She swatted the robber with her tail and let out an aggressively questioning sound. Derek side-stepped her and batted her tail away.

"Ugh, what!"

"Umm, I think she's asking you _why on earth you're working for him then_?!" helpfully interpreted Stiles.

"I'm not! Well, I wasn't. That wasn't the plan. I was helping out two of his men, not working for him directly. I don't think I ever even spoke to him. But then they got captured, and I still had the crown, which I knew would make me look bad. I was trying to deliver it to him and be freed of this contract, but then _you_ took the freaking thing," Derek said, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. "So now he wants me dead."

"Hey! Don't put that on me! You could've explained that! I probably wouldn't have blackmailed you into escorting me if I knew all the details!" Stiles exclaimed, feeling Derek's sudden annoyance as a personal attack.

Scott snorted from his perch on Stiles' head, and the young man poked at the chameleon.

"Shut up."

"Anyway," continued Derek, "people usually refuse to work for him, and he's quite picky on who can join him. There's an initiation ritual, where to prove your undying loyalty to him, you have to slaughter everyone you care for."

Stiles stumbled over his own two feet and gaped at Derek, his words caught in his throat. Malia nudged him lightly.

"Oh my God, _what the fuck_."

Derek twisted his face into a joyless smile.

"Yeah. That's why essentially working for him put a big, huge, traitor label on my back."

"No wonder your friends were scared and pissed."

Derek nodded sadly, a look of regret on his face. He'd broken his friends' trust, for what. For money. And there was no guarantee any of them would trust him ever again, even if they had helped them escape in the end. When he'd seen their faces as they fought in the Snuggly Duckling, full of anger and betrayal, he knew he'd fucked up big time by agreeing to help the twins.

"Hey, man. Don't beat yourself up."

Stiles put a hand on Derek's back and thumped him comfortingly a couple of times.

"I'm sure they'll forgive you. Eventually."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"Wow, nice job on the comforting there."

"Hey! I'm trying!" spluttered Stiles, shoving Derek in retribution for his disparaging comment.

Malia looked at the young man, and deadpanned an unimpressed neigh. Stiles threw his arms in the air.

"Not you too!" he lamented. "You don't even know me! You can't be disappointed in my lacking comforting skills!"

The look Malia gave him conveyed clearly that she could be and in fact was appalled at Stiles' efforts.

"Well gee, thanks, shutting up forever now. You can always beg for your dose of Stiles-induced edutainment, I won't deliver anymore!"

Derek smirked.

"I thought you said you never shut up."

"I shut up if I wa—OW! SHIT!"

Stiles' head was violently wrenched back as his feet tried to keep going forward, and he fell on his back with a harsh thump, as Scott held on for dear life.

"Oowwww, fuck!"

Derek immediately stopped and rushed towards him.

"You okay?"

Malia's following neigh sounded like laughter, and Derek took the time to glare at her before extending a hand to help Stiles up.

"No no no, wait."

Stiles scooted backwards and twisted his head around.

"My hair got caught into something. We have to untangle it before we can keep going..."

Derek stood up, wiping his palms.

"Right. I'll go," he said, and walked away, following the trail of brown hair.

Looking closely, it really was a mess. It had been dragged along behind them ever since that first night near the river. It was tangled and covered in dirt, leaves, mud, grass, and a variety of insalubrious things. The further Derek went, the more disgusting and filled with foreign objects Stiles' hair became. When he got to the point where the strands had gotten stuck, it was not difficult to see why. A clutter of branches and twigs was woven tightly within the hair, and had caught between two rocks.

"Stiles, come look at this!" called Derek, before crouching and tugging gingerly at the sticks.

Stiles and Malia arrived soon enough, and the young man let out an appalled groan.

"Oh my God that's gonna take AGES to clean."

Malia huffed and snapped her teeth.

"No, we can't cut it!" exclaimed Stiles, protectively pulling his hair away from the horse. "You and Scott just go further and wait or something. The people with opposable thumbs will do the job."

He crouched next to Derek, made a face at how bad it looked from up close, and started trying to unravel the mess of hair and forest residue.

"Told you it would be unpractical," muttered Derek after a few minutes.

"Oh, shut up. It's my first time outside okay? I'm learning."

"Well, we have to find a way to manage your hair before we get to town. People will make you fall all the time by walking on it, and the roads are full of shit."

Stiles made an annoyed sound.

"We'll think about that when we get there! We can just carry it."

"I'm not carrying it when it's that disgusting. I don't want to get fleas."

"Hey!" Stiles exclaimed, poking at Derek's arm.

"Just being honest here," shrugged Derek with a smirk.

"Well I can wash it and _then_ have you carry it."

Derek shrugged.

"We'll have to clean up a bit before going to town anyway. It's a festival, everyone is as presentable as they can afford. We'd stick out too much as we are."

Stiles let his eyes glide along Derek's rumpled, dusty clothes and his scruffy unshaven face.

"Eh, you look fine," he shrugged. "I know I'm the problem anyway. The hair is very noticeable."

"We'll find a solution," assured Derek.

They focused on getting the hair free of the problematic branches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


	10. of Bathing and Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' hair dragging along behind him on the forest ground is now completely disgusting and tangled (unlike Rapunzel's *cough*LOL DISNEY*cough*)  
> They get to a lake and bathe in preparation for the next day's festival.
> 
> Trigger warning: flashback of child abuse in this chapter.

The next day, when Stiles woke up, Derek was nowhere to be seen, which oddly disappointed Stiles a bit. He looked around. Malia was munching on grass with a grossed-out expression on her face, while Scott looked at her amusedly. Stiles stretched, and took a look at his hair. It was a disgrace. If his father saw him now, he'd get the thrashing of his life for neglecting what was essentially the man's life-source. Stiles knew he shouldn't walk in town like this. He was already going to get stares about the hair's length, there was no need to gross people out on top of it. Plus his hair stank.  
The young man stood up, and looked at the sky. His birthday was tomorrow, and Derek had said there was a clean lake near-by. Time to wash up.

"Hey, Scott, Malia. You know what direction the lake is at? I want to clean up."

Malia whinnied and jerked her head in the direction Stiles was to take. He nodded.

"Thanks. It'll probably take all day, so just tell Derek where I am when he comes back, okay?"

Scott made a strange sound, but before Stiles could interpret it, Malia sat – like a horse _doesn't normally_ do, like, what – and covered Scott with her tail. She neighed again, signaling for Stiles to get moving. The young man raised his eyebrows at her, but started walking in the direction she'd indicated.

It was warm for April, which was a blessing for his hair. Having it fully wet and unable to dry would be a recipe for disaster. Illness. And Stiles hated catching colds.

The young man got to the lake and started undressing, throwing his clothes haphazardly on the ground. They'd also have to get washed, but later. For now he just wanted to wash out all the grimy places that traveling with no access to clean washing water or toilet paper made inevitable. He took a deep breath, and ran in the water with a startled yelp at how cool it was. He quickly submerged himself and moved around where it was shallow, to get a bit warmer, and started washing his body. A sudden spluttering sound to his left made him turn around with a start. He was faced with one wet, blushing Derek Hale.

"Derek! I didn't know you were here!" squeaked Stiles, gathering his hair around him to hide his body. Derek cleared his throat and looked away.

"Sorry, I was just swimming around, I didn't see you," he grunted. "I'll leave you to it."

And Derek started walking out of the lake, his back stiff. Stiles couldn't help but stare, gawking, as the water glided down the robber's muscles in gleaming rivulets, and as his muscular behind was suddenly exposed. Stiles let out a strangled sound of embarrassment and... arousal????? before slapping a hand across his face.

"Jesus, get a grip," he muttered.

What the hell was that reaction. He'd seen naked men before. Paintings, sure, but even then! What was this!?

Derek looked back at him, confused, and smirked when he saw how flustered Stiles was. He didn't comment, but started walking slower, and _very deliberately_ bent over to gather Stiles' discarded clothes. Holding them in front of his crotch, he turned back to the suffocating young man and tilted his head.

"I could wash these for you."

It took a couple seconds for Stiles to make his voice work.

"Okay, yeah, sure, you do that," he managed, his voice breaking on the words.

Derek nodded.

"Mine are already drying over there." He pointed at a flat rock a few feet to his left. "There's a good place to scrub them. I'll bring you the soap when I'm done."

And with that, Derek, in all his naked glory, walked away to clean Stiles' clothes. Forcing his mouth to snap shut, Stiles let out a mortified groan and submerged himself fully once more.

He'd never seen an attractive real man naked before. He'd seen paintings in books, sure, men and women alike, and both were, you know, nice to look at when no one was around. And he knew lots of things about anatomy. But having a living, breathing, _sexy bastard_ just walk around naked in front of him was a whole new thing. And apparently it aroused him, like the aforementioned paintings had never aroused him before. He was screwed. So screwed. Thank God the water was cold.

He concentrated on gathering all his hair in the water around him, a feat not that easily executed considering it was his first time bathing in an open water space. Having all the hair wet and floating around him at once was not how he usually operated, and was pretty confusing. He started by hand-picking all the leaves, small twigs, and flowers he was able to spot, trying to work systematically, strand after strand, but it didn't seem to be working, as the rest of his hair was floating all around him, catching all the small debris he was trying to get rid of. Stiles only had two hands, and he was getting pretty frustrated. As if cleaning the hair wasn't already tedious enough normally!  
He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to start over when Derek swam over to him. The man looked at him, eyebrows raised in silent judgement, as Stiles seethed with hair-induced rage.

"What!?" he snapped. "Yeah, so I'm failing at getting clean. I'd like to see _you_ with hair more than ten times the length of your body!"

"Do you need help?" asked Derek calmly, despite Stiles' outburst.

"Do I look like a man who needs help?"

"Yeah actually. You do."

Stiles sighed, defeated, his anger evaporating as he realized how ridiculous he was being.

"I know it's pathetic, but this is not my usual hair grooming process at all."

"I can imagine."

"I'd be grateful for your help. I just don't really know how to go about it. My hair's never been this full of shit — and don't you dare say 'I told you so'."

Derek made his way to behind Stiles and reached for his hair.

"We'll figure it out," he said.

He started spreading the hair in the water, fanning it out to get a good look at the problem. Really, this was a two-person job. One to hold the clean and unclean hair separated, and one to free the strands of their filth. Derek suggested this plan, and Stiles shrugged.

"I'm pretty open to anything right now," he sighed.

Derek wrenched his mind out of the gutter and nodded, even though Stiles couldn't see him.

"I'll start here then," he decided, taking a strand right under Stiles' left ear and gathering the rest to the right, handing it to Stiles.

The young man felt the hair glide away from him as he draped it over his right shoulder, his back exposed and bare. He heard Derek inhale sharply, and knew he'd recognized the old scars for what they were. Thankfully, the robber didn't comment, and simply started grooming him. Stiles shivered at Derek's touch.

"There's not that much left," noted Derek. "You were being over-dramatic."

"I'm never over-dramatic," grumbled Stiles, looking at the hair he was holding.

Derek just snorted and concentrated on his task, liberating the pieces of filth down current. It was a long process, but kind of calming. Derek liked cleaning things, solving problems, and something that just required patience and a bit of soap where mud or feces had clustered, was quite cathartic.

The silence didn't last long of course; after getting over his initial discomfort Stiles started talking about random things that crossed his mind. Derek listened and hummed in acknowledgement ever so often, happy to hear all about the mating practices of spiders, Scott's irrational fear of dust bunnies, the History of circumcision, how high the moon probably was, the time father Nogitsune had non-intentionally brought back a badly-translated French erotic book and the following debacle, how much water you had to drink to eventually die of over-hydration, and how Stiles found the concept of milk really odd.  
Derek only changed the subject once, to enquire about a shorter strand of hair. It still was really long, but only about two meters or so, which stuck out.

"Uh, Stiles? Why is this strand shorter?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that one. Well, father said someone tried to chop my hair off to steal it when I was a baby, but they gave up when they saw it made it lose its power. It's grown to this length with the rest of my hair, and then it just stopped. I don't think non-magical hair can grow as long as the rest has. There should be another shorter strand further on, one meter long I think. I ripped it out when I was eight. With a butter knife. I wanted to cut it all... Father stopped me quickly enough."

"Why? Shouldn't your hair be your choice?"

Stiles snorted and turned around a bit.

"At eight? I was gonna throw my powers away, just like that, because I didn't like having to brush it? Nah, man. He was right to stop me. Plus, he would've died without my hair, and that would've left me an orphan in a secluded tower, alone till my tragic death, three days later, from dehydration."

Derek pressed his lips together.

"Right."

A couple of silent seconds went by, and Stiles sighed.

"I do wish he hadn't been so angry, though. It was only one strand, and now, well."

He made a helpless gesture. Derek was confused.

"Now what?"

"Well, now I haven't got the perfect pearly skin all virgin maidens in distress should have!" Stiles said flippantly.

Derek paused. The scars. Stiles was mentioning the scars. That had been there _since he was eight?!_

"I thought you were thirteen the first time he beat you."

Stiles shot Derek a flat stare.

"Please. Those look like welts to you?"

They didn't. They were too neat, too thin, too white. Derek knew what they were, and it made him want to cry.

"Yeah, didn't think so," snorted Stiles, looking away again.

Derek couldn't stop staring at the scars. Four thin grooves transversely striped Stiles' back. One of them was curved and wobbly, and slid up to Stiles' scapula. One was broken mid way, and started again a bit lower, wrapping around Stiles' side and under his arm. The two lower ones were perfectly parallel and regular.

Derek didn't know what to say. He just felt sadness and anger.

"You do know this isn't... That it isn't acceptable to do that to someone, right? Especially a child..." he heard himself ask.

Stiles hesitated, and nodded once.

"I'm starting to realize that."

"Okay."

Derek slowly went back to cleaning Stiles' hair, and the subject changed back to lighter topics, after a moment of reflective silence.

\-----

**Knives**

The cuts on his back and thighs were searing with white hot pain, and the boy couldn't stop bawling.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry father, I'll be good, please!"

His father shushed him and kept tending to the wounds.

"You shouldn't have squirmed as much. Some of them are messy."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, WAAAAAAH!!!"

The pain flared. The boy screeched and dissolved in harsh sobs that shook his whole body with each breath he managed to take.

"Stop moving, I'm disinfecting them. I think one of them went a little deep there, I'll have to sew it up."

"PLEASE NO, PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME, PLEASE! I'LL NEVER CUT MY HAIR! I'LL NEVER TOUCH A KNIFE! PLEASE!"

"Go to sleep, child. It will be better in the morning."

A deep veil of darkness enveloped the boy, and he mentally flung himself into it. Just to escape the pain. Just for a moment.

It wasn't better in the morning.

\-----

It was evening. Stiles and Derek were now sitting on the border of the lake, taking in the last drops of sunshine and looking at Stiles' hair dry.

Cleaning and untangling it had taken all day, and they'd both grown comfortable about their undressed state, more or less able to chase away the latent arousal they both felt at being naked next to someone they found attractive, although eyes and hands did sometimes linger hesitantly.

"Do people usually just hang out naked like this?" asked Stiles, breaking the silence.

He was fiddling with his hair, and let his eyes roam along Derek's strong legs.

Derek scratched his chin. He'd just shaven.

"Depends," he grunted.

He was trying very hard not to look at Stiles' body too much. The young man was beautiful, and smart, and strong, and caring, and it wouldn't do to ruin their developing friendship with something stupid like a boner.

"Depends on what? Who does?"

"Depends on the relationship between people. Close friends. Children. Brothers..." he paused. "Lovers."

Their eyes met on the last word. They were both blushing slightly. Derek cleared his throat blatantly and looked away, flinging a pebble in the lake to do something with his hands.  
Stiles looked down and licked his lips. He let the question reverberate in his mind a while, before daring to voice it:

"And what are we?"

Derek felt a jolt through his body, and looked at Stiles again, filled with hesitant wonder. Was Stiles flirting? With him? Derek took a deep shuddering breath to try and stay calm.

"Which one do you want us to be?" he asked, his heart beating in his ears.

Stiles wasn't faring much better composure-wise. He knew from the heat in his face that he was blushing furiously, probably down to his neck, which tended to make his skin splotchy, and what was he even doing developing feelings for a strange, beautiful outlaw, who was taciturn but gentle and attentive? He couldn't do that, he shouldn't do that, he had to get back to the tower, he couldn't go falling in— developing _feelings_.

The two young men stared at each other for a long while, waiting, hoping, hesitating, falling.

Derek had known he found Stiles attractive, both physically and in his personality, but he hadn't let himself reflect on it at all. He believed that Stiles could not be emotionally mature, not with the life he'd had so far, and Derek knew emotionally immature people and relationships did not mix very well at all. He'd been in a couple of relationships when he wasn't ready yet, after the fire. It hadn't been pretty.  
But as time went by, he realized Stiles was nothing like what he'd expected. He thought he'd be immature and naive, angry, secluded, but he wasn't. Even though there were things he didn't understand of the world – and who could blame him – he approached each difficulty with an open analytical mind, and was able to adapt fairly well. And sure, Stiles had issues. He was being abused by his father, and would have to get away from the man to ever live a healthy life. But maybe Derek could help with that? And Stiles didn't really like himself. He regularly made deprecating comments about both his appearance and his intelligence, which made no sense. He was so smart with his quick-witted comebacks and his sarcastic quips, and the well of information that was his mind. So pretty with his warm brown eyes, his chiseled face, his pink lips, his pale skin and mouth-watering moles.  
But Derek still had refused to think of being in a relationship with Stiles, mostly because the young man didn't seem interested. And now that he _did_ seem _very_ interested, Derek didn't think he could ignore his attraction much longer.

Stiles hadn't felt so conflicted in a long time. His choices were usually fairly simple: obey father, or get his own way and face the consequences. Anything excluding the man was both liberating, and very frightening. A thousand doubts crossed his mind in the few seconds he stared at Derek while Derek stared back. Was this a good idea? He was an outlaw and might hurt him, take advantage. But he was so nice and sarcastic and funny and he listened as well as Scott...  
Why did Stiles feel the urge to kiss him? Kissing was gross, not so long ago. The lovers in books _had_ to kiss to break curses, and Stiles had only seen an appeal to kissing when he'd started having sexual dreams – mostly about unrecognizable figures and fictional or historical characters – about a year ago. But he hadn't thought of actually really kissing someone... Until Derek. Was this just because Derek was someone new? Or was it because... it was _Derek_? How could Stiles even know if his feelings actually meant anything, or if it was just an excitement about new things?  
Would father be angry if he found this out? Probably. Hundred percent angry.  
Was this even normal? There usually was one man and one woman in the story books that had instructed Stiles about romance. What if this wasn't what Stiles thought it was at all? What if he was misreading Derek completely? What if he wasn't? What did it mean? What should he do?

"Ah, fuck it," suddenly breathed out Stiles.

He leaned forward, and Derek met him mid way. Their lips brushed. Stiles' thoughts calmed almost immediately, focusing on the touch and the feel of Derek's hands that had come up to cradle his face. The young man hesitantly placed one of his hands on Derek's leg, and turned a bit to face the man more fully.  
Derek's lips were moving, and it was nice, even if Stiles didn't really know how to kiss back and just kind of mirrored what Derek was doing.

When they broke apart, Stiles immediately started babbling.

"Oh my god I can't believe this just happened. Was that okay? I have no clue what I'm doing, I'm sorry, I haven't ever kissed anyone before, and oh my GOD I liked this a lot but you shouldn't have to be with a literal virgin when you're like the sexiest guy out there, and..."

"Stiles."

Stiles paused in his hand-wringing monologue and looked at Derek.

"It was perfect."

"You're just saying that."

"No."

Stiles searched Derek's face for signs of lies or mockery, and was just met with a very serious expression.

"Okay. But I still don't know what I'm doing."

Derek nodded in understanding.

"We'll take this slow," he stated.

Stiles blinked and pouted a bit.

"Not _too_ slow."

Derek snorted and stood up. Stiles' eyes followed the movement, and he ended up staring at Derek's very nice semi-hard cock. Stiles bit his lower lip and stood up as well, forcefully NOT thinking about certain appendices and what they tasted like.

"We should put our clothes back on. They've been dry for a while."

And with that, Derek walked off and started getting dressed.

Okay.

Stiles took a while to compose himself and followed, gathering his clean clothes and putting them on.  
It was getting chilly anyway, he told himself, trying not to be too disappointed as Derek's magnificent ass was hidden from him again.

He worked his pants over his _bits_ and looked up. Derek had paused while slipping his shirt on, and was staring at him almost hungrily. Stiles smirked as the robber looked away, realizing he'd been staring.

"Like what you see?" he taunted in a sultry voice, delighted when he saw Derek tense up.

"You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you," deadpanned Derek.

"Yup!" answered Stiles, obnoxiously popping the p.

Derek rolled his eyes and moved, and suddenly, he was all in Stiles' face and was kissing him again, hard and dirty.

When he was let go, Stiles was speechless.

"Well at least now I have a way to shut you up," smirked Derek.

As the man walked away, Stiles stammered a very weak "you shut up" that he found pretty appalling. He'd have to work on his comebacks.

\-----

The knowing look Malia gave them and the grossed out sound Scott made were hilarious to Stiles. At least someone was laughing. Scott had to find a way to give the whole "you hurt him you die" speech, but as a chameleon, well... He wasn't a hundred percent sure Derek had understood his flailing around as the threat it was. And Stiles had refused to translate, simply moaning out "Oh my God Scott, stop being embarrassing!" and ignoring any further attempt at communication.

So be it. But if Derek hurt him... Scott would... Like.... Lick his eyeballs or something. Yeah. Beware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone that is following this fic, and reading it, and commenting, and leaving kudos I appreciate it very much! ^^  
> I hope you liked this chapter. I enjoyed writing it! :3
> 
> If anyone is curious, I decided that Stiles' magic hair is 21.6 meters long. That means it grows 10cm per month, ten times faster than normal hair, and that it never stops growing, unlike normal hair that stops at two meters at the longest.  
> Also, while Rapunzel's cut hair never grows back, I decided that Stiles' cut hair grows like normal hair, so 1cm per month, and stops at two meters.  
> Okay, that was the funky hair science bit xD  
> Bye now, see you next chapter!


	11. of Panic and Weavers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously:
> 
> Deucalion wants to kidnap Stiles.  
> The Nogitsune wants to double-cross Deucalion.   
> Stiles' hair is a nuisance.  
> Derek and Stiles discover their mutual attraction and kiss.
> 
> This chapter:
> 
> Stiles' hair is still a nuisance. They need a solution, as they are going in town, to THE FESTIVAL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Cause: life.

Stiles stared wide-eyed at the bustling town around him. They had entered the city with a flow of other visitors as the gates had opened, and had immediately regrouped against a wall, to the side, for fear of being separated. There were _so many people_! How could there be so many people? It was more wild and messy than Stiles' craziest dreams!  
He clutched at his overflowing satchel uneasily. They'd emptied its contents into one of the pouches Malia carried around, entrusting her with their food, and they'd stuffed as much of his hair in there as was physically possible. It wasn't perfect, and Derek was also carrying some of the hair wrapped around one of his arms, but it was the best they could do for now.

"This is... This is crazy!" Stiles exhaled in awe.

Scott patted his head knowingly. 

"You were expecting that?" asked Stiles, taking Scott in his hand to be able to see him.

The chameleon nodded, and explained he originally lived around here, when he was a human. Stiles' eyes widened. Scott hated to discuss his human life.

"Dude, really? That's so cool! You can show us around then!"

Scott shrugged and signed that he hadn't been here in years, and that things had probably changed, but that he'd do his best.

"D'you think we'll see your family?" asked Stiles softly.

Scott shrugged and seemed to get a bit smaller. Stiles sighed.

"Sorry man. Not talking about it. Up you go!"

He put Scott on his head again and turned to Derek, who apparently had started a shoving match with Malia over one of his badly-drawn wanted posters.

"Guys!" snapped Stiles, catching their attention. "Come on! Try to act civil and _not_ attract more attention please!"

"She started it!" exclaimed Derek as Malia probably whinnied the same thing.

"Who cares? Just pipe down! And watch out for my hair!"

During all their horsing around, Derek and Malia hadn't noticed part of Stiles' hair slipping towards the ground. Derek huffed and secured the stray strands.

"Thanks," said Stiles coolly before turning back to the gargantuan crowd.

The young man breathed deeply, and they started walking towards the market. Glancing jumpily at anyone that walked close, Stiles tried not to imagine what could go wrong, not imagine Derek letting go of the hair, the satchel tearing apart, his hair falling down and being trampled in mud and dirt and what was definitely horse-shit. Not imagine the guards that patrolled around in small groups recognize them and jump them, throw Derek in prison, behead him, torture Stiles for answers about things Stiles didn't know. Not imagine all the cut-throats and robbers who wouldn't know any better than to jump them and just see his hair as incredibly convenient to make ropes, and go around him in a frenzy, pulling his hair, ripping it out, hair by hair, strand by strand, plucking him until he was bald and worthless, naked, alone, his father dying, Derek rejecting him, Scott leaving, aaand there was the panic attack.

\-----

Seemingly out of nowhere, Stiles collapsed on himself, clutching at his chest, his breathing erratic, his face contorted in pain. Derek's eyes widened and he quickly caught hold of him, dragging him up and out of the crowd, elbowing a couple of people with muttered apologies. When he got them near a fountain, shooing the children that had been playing with the water, he sat Stiles down and crouched next to him, his own heart in a frenzy.

"Stiles."

Stiles shook his head and gasped for air, his chest heaving way too quickly. Scott scuttled down and planted himself in Stiles' line of vision. He made motions with his front paws, signaling for Stiles to slow his breathing.

"I'm gonna count, and you're gonna breathe, deep breaths," said Derek, when Stiles failed to calm down.

\-----

Stiles nodded jerkily, and concentrated on Derek's rhythmic counting, trying to block out the sounds of the people around them. Five in, hold for three, six out, hold for three, five in, hold for three, six out, hold for three, five in...

_You're fine, Derek's here, Scott's here, you're fine_

After a couple of minutes he was feeling all right again, though his heart was still beating faster than usual. Stiles sighed.

"Fuck I'm so dumb. Thanks."

Derek frowned at him and took his hand.

"You're not dumb. Panic attacks aren't dumb. Don't say things like that. What triggered it?"

Stiles sighed and rubbed a hand across his face.

"Not sure. The crowd? My hair being endangered? You being wanted? All of the above? Something like that."

"Well, we can't do much about the crowd or my criminal record, but I think I have an idea for your hair."

Derek pointed over his shoulder, and Stiles peeked around him.

"Basket weavers?"

Derek shrugged.

"We might as well ask."

Stiles nodded and started getting up, still a bit wobbly, but definitely okay as Derek helped him by holding his upper arm.

The basket weavers clearly judged them for their odd request. But two of them, sisters, accepter to try and help. For a price.

"I recon it'll take about three hours to weave all that mess into something manageable. So that's like a large basket. Six thaler."

Stiles grimaced. Silver. He knew they were missing something.

"Half now, half later," glowered Derek at her.

Stiles made a face at him and flailed a bit.

"What are you doing?" he mouthed.

But Derek didn't spare him a glance, and handed the woman three silver coins. Stiles looked at her examine the money, half-expecting her to throw it back at their faces, but she didn't, she nodded and turned away.

"Where did you get that?" asked Stiles suspiciously once she was out of ear shot.

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"I keep money on me. I'm not _poor_."

"But I took your stuff."

"When you live with outlaws, you learn how to hide things from the best pickpockets."

Stiles made a face, and smirked.

"Where exactly is it you _hide_ things?"

Derek rolled his eyes hard, but before he could answer over Stiles' snickering, one of the sisters came back and steered the young man towards a stool.

"My, my, my, all that hair! I don't know what you hope we'll be able to do with it. What you need, sir, is a barber to snip all that off!"

Stiles was still feeling jittery from his panic attack, and that particular comment was definitely not helping. But before he could hyperventilate or freeze or collapse, Derek's voice rung out, a terrifying growl of a threat.

"No cutting."

The woman jumped slightly and let go of Stiles.

"Okay, eyebrows, calm down, we respect the customer's wishes."

"You better," he grunted.

Stiles shot him a thankful glance before turning to the woman with a winning smile.

"Don't mind him, he's a bit prickly sometimes. I'd be very grateful if you didn't bring anything sharp near my hair and just wove it as best you can. It doesn't have to be perfect, just less inconvenient."

"Of course. No cutting, we'll remember," said the second sister, coming back towards them. "I'm Maddie and this is Reela, we'll do our best since we got paid."

Maddie waited for Stiles to sit down, and looked up at Derek.

"You can come back for your friend in a couple of hours."

Derek frowned at her.

"No. I'll stay."

Maddie raised her eyebrows, visibly fighting an eye-roll.

"Do as you wish sir. Just don't get in our way. Please hand me the rest of the hair."

Derek seemed surprised at her request, like he'd forgotten he was holding part of Stiles' hair. After a couple of hesitant seconds, he let it slide from his arm into Maddie's waiting hands. She nodded and went back to where Stiles and Reela were socializing and unpacking the hair from his satchel.

\-----

The women were nice. A bit over-bearing and motherly, but they definitely knew what they were doing, weaving and folding the hair over itself again and again, gossiping all along, until all Stiles had to deal with were two four-meter-long thick strands at the back of his head that he could tie together and wrap around his waist to prevent them from dragging on the ground.

It was heavy. It pulled at his scalp and was uncomfortable. But he'd never felt more free in his life.

"Thank you so, so much!" he told Maddie and Reela.

Reela beamed, and Maddie nodded before turning to Derek.

"See? He's happy. You can finish paying us now."

Derek grunted his assent, and handed her four more thaler.

"That's more than we agreed on," noted Maddie.

Derek shrugged.

"I know. Good job."

Maddie tilted her head, reassessing Derek, and half-smiled at him.

"Thanks."

She looked at Stiles.

"Come by any time you need another weaving."

Reela nodded vigorously and grinned at Stiles.

"Don't be a stranger, visit sometimes!"

Stiles smiled at them.

"I'm afraid I won't be in town for long... But I won't forget you. Thanks again!"

The women nodded and went back to their work, weaving and selling baskets. Derek picked up one of the woven strands.

"Good workmanship. Not too heavy?"

Stiles shrugged.

"Don't worry about it, I've got muscle to spare."

Derek snorted and Stiles swatted at him.

"Shut up. Let's go see what that festival is all about, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was on the shorter side! <3  
> Thanks for reading!


	12. of Festivals and Bigots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up to now:  
> Derek and Stiles got to Beacon Hills in time for Stiles' birthday. Stiles had a panic attack but Derek helped him. They found a way to tie up all the hair. Cue exploring the festival!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm only posting this today, I'm on a boat in Croatia at the moment, and the wifi is scarce. :P
> 
> A BIG THANKS to my friend Frances (sisterofiris on tumblr) who fed my muse and kick-started this chapter by writing the first paragraphs! :) I reviewed them obvs, but she really helped me out! Yay for Frances!

Stiles was able to control his anxiety, thanks to Derek's proximity and his hair being secured. And so, he was able to enjoy what the festival had to offer.

First, there were the merchant stands. Stiles had never seen so much food, so many clothes, so many trinkets, gloves, bouquets, flowers, jewels, toys, flags, semi-precious stones... So many things! And the farmers! All those animals he'd eaten and seen in picture books, but hadn't ever seen in real life. Cows were _way_ bigger than what he'd expected! And the chicken moved so erratically! And the goats were so _loud_!

Stiles flitted from one stand to the next, excitedly taking in as much as he could. He non-intentionally bumped around into a couple of people, and ended up avoiding a donkey in extremis – it looked kind of weird from close up, and less like a horse than he’d imagined – losing his balance, slipping in mud, and spinning his arms wildly to stop himself from toppling into a goat enclosure. Derek caught him just before he fell. Scott squeaked in reproach and climbed up on the other man, shaking his head at his best friend with a remark about "stiles-sickness" and not enjoying being shaken around.

"Careful," breathed Derek. "You don't wanna be walking around covered in goat shit on your birthday."

No. Definitely not – not on his birthday, not on the one day he was actually _with other people _, not in front of the handsomest man he'd ever met and who seemed to like him back. Nothing should come and ruin this day. Stiles steadied himself against the gate of the enclosure, reveling in his sudden grounding proximity to Derek. He thanked him breathlessly, and the man smiled knowingly. But his eyes soon widened.__

__"Watch out!"_ _

__Something tugged at Stiles' leg. With a yelp, he jumped away, wincing at the definite ripping sound that followed. A goat stared at him through the gate, chewing on a piece of fabric – fabric that had belonged to Stiles' clothes just moments ago. Stiles, mouth gaping in outrage, pointed at the offending animal._ _

__"How dare you!" he exclaimed, wagging his finger in front of the goat's vacant stare._ _

__Derek started laughing._ _

__"Yeah, I should've mentioned. Goats eat pretty much anything."_ _

__Stiles looked down at the damage, and quickly clapped a hand to his thigh. The damn thing hadn't eaten his shirt, like any reasonable animal would have, no, it went straight for his pants! The hole wasn't big, but it didn't stop Stiles from blushing. It was right under his buttock! At least it hadn't exposed a scar._ _

__"Ugh, I'm such an idiot! Father has a book all about animals, I should've remembered that detail about fucking goats... There's just so much and, well, it's not the same when you read about it and..."_ _

__Derek grabbed his hand. Stiles went quiet under Derek's serious stare._ _

__"Don't fuck goats."_ _

__Stiles' eyes widened, and he saw Derek's lips tremble in an effort not to laugh._ _

__"Oh my God!"_ _

__Derek snorted, unable to hold it in any longer faced with Stiles' look of outrage._ _

__"Not fucking goats as in having sex, you dingus! Just... Fucking goats man! You know! Those damn goats! What the hell! Stop laughing at me!"_ _

__Stiles tried to look annoyed, but he soon started chuckling as well. And really, how could he stay cross while looking at Derek's beautiful smile and crinkled eyes?_ _

__Once Derek had calmed down, Stiles huffed, and asked:_ _

__"No, but seriously, can I walk around like that?"_ _

__Derek turned Stiles around and peered at the rip._ _

__"It's fine," he decided, ghosting his fingers over Stiles' exposed flesh._ _

__The young man squeaked, and Derek smirked, stepping away and taking Stiles' hand again._ _

__"Don't worry about it, your tunic mostly covers it. Come on. Let's get away from all that goat odor."_ _

__Stiles followed. They wove through the crowd, fingers interlocked so they wouldn't lose each other, Scott quite cosy on Derek' shoulder and Malia behind them, snorting at anyone who got too close. Music played somewhere in the distance, an upbeat, dancing tune. The streets were swirling with people, colors, sounds, smells. There was so much to see, so much to do, and Stiles was determined to visit it all and still have time to find out about the lights!_ _

__Derek squeezed Stiles' hand._ _

__"What next?"_ _

__The young man shrugged._ _

__"I don't know. I just want to see everything. Scott? Any ideas?"_ _

__Scott nodded and pointed at a stand a few feet away. Stiles focused on it. The table was covered in beautiful stones, catching light and gleaming colorfully._ _

__"Ooh, nice!"_ _

__He made his way over, pulling Derek behind him. Some gems were precious, some semi-precious, some not precious at all but just as bright. He looked up at the merchant, ready to greet them happily, but his smile soon melted on his face. The woman behind the stand was glaring at them, more specifically at their clutched hands. Was it not all right to hold hands in public? Stiles half-heartedly tried to pull his away, a bit nervous, but Derek's grip was tight, and really, what did it matter if a random woman on the street didn't approve? No one else had said anything. Stiles breathed in deeply. It didn't matter. Only Derek did, and Derek was glaring daggers at the woman, as if he were daring her to say something._ _

__When she didn't, the man picked up a purplish stone and weighed it in his hand. The woman behind the table leant over._ _

__"A special one, that is," she said, schooling her features into a less obviously disgusted expression. "It's a..."_ _

__"An amethyst," Stiles butted in excitedly. "It's a kind of quartz. It gets its color from being exposed to radiation, well that and the little bit of iron inside it. The Ancient Greeks used to believe that it prevented the people who wore it from getting drunk! Of course, they still got shit-faced when carrying it around..."_ _

__Derek lifted his eyebrows, ignoring the sour look on the merchant's face._ _

__"So you know about geology too?"_ _

__"A bit," Stiles shrugged. "I read about it. I told you, there's not much else to do when you're locked in a tower."_ _

__Derek put the stone down and picked up another one._ _

__"What's this one, then?"_ _

__Stiles peered around the man's shoulder._ _

__"That's gold," said the merchant._ _

__The stone was lumpy and golden, almost like actual gold, but not quite. Stiles caught Derek's wrist and pulled it closer to get a better look._ _

__"Ummm nope, that's pyrite. It also gets called _fool's_ gold, you can probably guess why. It's basically iron and it's not worth much, but hey, it still looks good."_ _

__Derek smiled at him, and Stiles blushed, noticing how close he'd brought them. His fingers were still around Derek's wrist, and their other hands were still linked, and they'd been like this without talking for a tiny bit too long now, but it felt strangely wrong to let go. He swallowed. His heart had started beating harder again, but this time it didn't feel _bad _, just... nervous. He hurriedly looked away for a distraction, before he ended up kissing Derek in public or something, as the woman behind the table gave them a hard stare.___ _

____He caught sight of another rock, this one bigger than the other two._ _ _ _

____"Dude, check it out, that one's so cool!"_ _ _ _

____Stiles let go of Derek and reached for the stone, cradling it in his palms. It was dark blue and speckled with small white splotches, like the night sky._ _ _ _

____"I loved reading about those," Stiles explained excitedly, "Lapis lazuli, that's what they're called, I always imagined them to look like that but oh my God they look so much more like the stars than I thought. The black and white illustrations did not do them justice! That bit even looks like the Milky Way! Damn it's so awesome, I wish I could..."_ _ _ _

____He forced himself to shut up. Derek probably didn't have enough money, and anyway, why would he have to buy Stiles anything else? He'd been the one to pay Maddie and Reela. Stiles already owed him, and would never be able to pay him back._ _ _ _

____He put the stone back down carefully, and stepped away from the stand._ _ _ _

____"Anyway, let's get moving. There's a lot more to visit."_ _ _ _

____"Just a second," said Derek, stopping Stiles with a hand on his lower back._ _ _ _

____He looked up at the merchant, picking up the amethyst._ _ _ _

____"How much is this one?"_ _ _ _

____She gave him a cold look._ _ _ _

____"Nine thaler."_ _ _ _

____Stiles gaped. That was way to high a price. Even he knew that much. Derek grimaced._ _ _ _

____"That size? No it's not. It can't be more than three thaler. Maybe I'd go up to three and ten pfennig, if it were really pretty."_ _ _ _

____"Well, I'm truly sorry sir," said the woman, not sounding sorry at all, nearly spitting out her words, "but that's the price for filthy faggots. So if you'd either pay up or leave."_ _ _ _

____Derek put the stone down abruptly, making the table tremble and the stones wobble. He didn't spare the woman another glance and turned on his heels, pulling Stiles away with him, glaring people out of his way. Malia followed, after casually knocking into the stand and not-so-accidentally sending some of the rocks rolling around on the ground and ignoring the woman's curses._ _ _ _

____Derek didn't slow down until they were far away from that stand, and didn't stop pacing until Stiles tugged at his arm._ _ _ _

____"Hey," he prompted. "You okay? What was that? What's 'faggots'?"_ _ _ _

____The murderous expression on Derek's face lessened somewhat, but his eyebrows were still scrunched up in anger._ _ _ _

____"It's what bigots like her call same-sex couples. Because they think we should be burnt, just like bundles of wood."_ _ _ _

____"Wait, what? She was being an asshole because we're two guys?"_ _ _ _

____Derek sighed, and nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists. Stiles worried his lower lip._ _ _ _

____"Does... everyone think like her?"_ _ _ _

____Scott reacted at that, shaking his head so hard he nearly fell off of Derek's shoulder. The man steadied him, and answered Stiles as well, through clenched teeth:_ _ _ _

____"It depends where. Beacon Hills is okay, because it's not illegal, and King Stilinski is tolerant. But some people will always hate anything or anyone that's different from them."_ _ _ _

____Stiles sighed, and clapped Derek's free shoulder. Derek glared at the ground, his breathing harsh._ _ _ _

____"Dude, that sucks. But what do we care what some random woman thinks? Don't let it get to you. Okay?"_ _ _ _

____Derek pressed his lips together and blew air through his nose in a long, annoyed sigh._ _ _ _

____"I just can't stand people like her! They hurt others for no reason. Not even personal profit! I just..."_ _ _ _

____Derek's words got lost in a sound of frustration. He handed Scott to Stiles and started pacing again, growling, probably at himself. Stiles looked at him worriedly, at loss with what to do, seeing the man trying and failing to calm down, until Derek got to the point where he punched a wall._ _ _ _

____\-----_ _ _ _

____"Wow, Derek!"_ _ _ _

____Derek ignored him and stared at his scraped knuckles, feeling the pain and the stupidity of his action, mentally berating himself. Stiles took a step closer._ _ _ _

____"Hey, hey, hey, okay, come on big guy, come here."_ _ _ _

____Stiles walked up to him and wrapped him in a tight hug, and after a couple of stiff seconds, the man melted, winding his arms around Stiles' waist and burying his face in the young man's neck as Scott tactfully got out of the way. Derek huffed, tickling Stiles a bit, and mumbled something._ _ _ _

____"What?"_ _ _ _

____"I said sorry for getting worked up."_ _ _ _

____"No man, don't worry about it, I get it."_ _ _ _

____"Yes, but I should have kept control. I don't want to ruin this for you."_ _ _ _

____Stiles turned his head to softly kiss what he could reach of Derek — part of his jaw._ _ _ _

____"You? You couldn't ruin this for me even if you tried. I love being here with you. I'm so glad it wasn't some other confused robber who ended up in the tower."_ _ _ _

____Derek huffed._ _ _ _

____"No, really. I'm really, really happy about this, about today. I can honestly say it's been my best birthday ever so far!"_ _ _ _

____Derek hummed, and nuzzled closer, feeling the anger seep away and disappear, back in the remote part of his mind where he suppressed negative thoughts. He let his lips brush Stiles' neck, and felt himself smile when the young man shivered._ _ _ _

____"I'm glad."_ _ _ _

____They stayed intertwined for a while more, drinking in the physical contact. Derek let go when Stiles started fidgeting, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek._ _ _ _

____"At least I have a gift for you now."_ _ _ _

____Stiles looked surprised._ _ _ _

____"What? When did you get something? I've been with you the whole time!"_ _ _ _

____Derek smirked and opened his hand. In his palm, was lying the Lapis lazuli Stiles wanted.  
Stiles gasped, flailed, and bumped into Malia, who immediately charged forwards with a nasty grunt and snapped her teeth at the robber._ _ _ _

____"Derek!" hissed Stiles, looking nervously left and right. "Did you steal that?!"_ _ _ _

____Derek pushed Malia's head away and shrugged._ _ _ _

____"Obviously. She deserved it."_ _ _ _

____Malia snorted and reluctantly nodded. Stiles gaped at her._ _ _ _

____"You condone this?"_ _ _ _

____Malia tried to shrug, jerked oddly, and whinnied some explanation that neither Derek nor Stiles could understand._ _ _ _

____"I think it's because the merchant was a jerk?" hazarded Stiles._ _ _ _

____Malia signaled that it was a close enough guess and trotted away a bit, to check out another stand near by, rolling her eyes and looking deliberately away from the stolen gem. Stiles turned back to Derek, trying to look disproving, but his face was glowing with happiness. Derek pressed the stone into Stiles' palm, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb._ _ _ _

____"Happy Birthday, Stiles."_ _ _ _

____Stiles gazed into Derek's eyes, his expression filled with wonder and fondness. He surged forward and kissed Derek's lips quickly._ _ _ _

____"Thank you."_ _ _ _

____"Derek!"_ _ _ _

____The excited squeal interrupted them, and they turned to the source of the sound. Kira was waving at them. Derek glowered, looking around. If Kira was there the others probably also were.  
Sure enough, Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia appeared behind her._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you very much for reading! <3 I hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
